


Eleison

by Airmid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Brotherly Bonding, Episode: s05e13 The Song Remains the Same, Fallen Angel Michael (Supernatural), Gen, God's A+ Parenting, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Michael!Dean, Platonic Relationships, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 60,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airmid/pseuds/Airmid
Summary: The idea of failing in multiple lifetimes was something that Dean had never considered because he had never believed in that reincarnation crap.Too bad it believed in him.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Gabriel/Michael (Supernatural)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was started a few years ago and remained a bit of a dream for a while until I began finishing it. During posting, I did decide to change the last few chapters and add a couple. My updates will be a little slower due to writing and editing the last little bit but the story itself is mostly written with the final chapters heavily laid out so it will be posted till completion. 
> 
> The front half takes place with a lot of canon elements from S5 to deal with pressing problems before going AU from that point. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading. :)

* * *

“So that was it?”

Sam was giving him that look again, that one where he thought Dean was keeping hidden deals or secrets or currently was being possessed by an archangel. Cas, broken angel that he was, was still passed out and not moving on the bed from almost killing himself for nothing. Mom and dad were factory reset, Ana was a crispy critter of an ex-angel, and Sam had gotten a pipe through his chest courtesy of their little time-traveling adventure.

At least the bastard had fixed that.

“Don’t know what you want me to say, Sammy,” Dean said leaning back in his chair eyeing the wallpaper. Polka dots didn’t do a lot for him and he hoped Cas woke the hell up soon so they could move. Dragging unconscious falling angels around was a hard thing to explain to bystanders. Especially when they looked like they had gotten a free beating into that state.

“Dean, it was the ruler of heaven. There wasn’t anything else? Nothing we could use?” Sam was looking at him, pushing at his ridiculous hair in need of sharp scissors. The kid was trying to bring 80’s fashion in, Dean was sure of it. “Didn’t you ask?”

All he wanted to do was scream at his brother to shut the hell up, that they were screwed and this was over.

“Oh yeah, Sam, in the middle of the carnage he sat down and we had tea and discussed how life began.” Dean tried for a ‘how stupid are you’ look and knew it was successful when his brother scowled back. “Look, dude, all he did was monologue about how great destiny is and how he loves Luci but still has to stake him to the burned-out husk of the earth when they’re done with their little fight.”

Sam’s face just fell, like the kid still had some kind of hope that the angels weren’t douchebags with ultimate power. Even Cas was a bit of a dick but he was the best of them that they’d met so far. The rest were always so much more into mind games and reminding them how much the mud monkeys were lower than either mud or monkeys.

Dean felt he would always be amused by the fact that they hated humans to that point then had to sweet talk with menace them into saying yes to wear them around. Like the simple logic of not being assholes to get what they wanted never occurred to them.

At least Sam had shut it. There was a deep gnawing in him, that desperation that they had no way out, no chance, and maybe if he did something now he could maybe at least save Sam from being Lucifer chow, that Mike would latch onto the idea of murdering his brother in a weakened state as a tactical advantage.

That that wouldn’t match Daddy’s little plan, though, not like that angel would get it was worthless to try to please a Dad who had skipped out however long ago.

Christ, this whole thing was screwed up.

Sam was staring at him, kneading his lip a little, nervous and he needed a drink in a place that wasn’t here. That damn angel better wake up soon so he could get gone, and Dean made himself not think about just why Cas was all passed out and suffering.

It was hard to look at Sam who kept stubbornly being here and human. Somedays, it was hard not to hate Sam for what he had chosen after all of this, even if all those damn seals would have burst open anyway because he wasn’t –

“What?” Sam demanded and looked slightly worried, forehead all creased like it was trying to burrow more into his skull.

Ain’t no way he was giving up on what he was thinking about and he shifted, uncomfortable under that accusing look he was getting. His fault, he had been staring too much.

Dean rubbed his knee, trying to think of a distraction to all of this.

“Nothing. Man, I hope Cas wakes up. Gonna be sick if I have to keep staring at this tacky place much longer.”

“Sure.” Sam’s voice was quiet as he looked down staring at his boots again and Dean kicked himself.

He was dying to open the door and just be out of here, to tell Sam to come pick him up whenever Cas deigned to rejoin the waking world. To not be here but he couldn’t leave them. Not right now. There was a terrible worry inside him that if he left them alone right in this minute that they would stop existing somehow. It was stupid, he knew that but it didn’t help and he stretched.

“Just, all that crap has me on edge.”

The kid at least nodded some of the worries smoothing out in him and Dean got the remote because it looked like it was going to be awhile.

* * *

“Hello, Sam.”

He tried not to jump at that low, coarse voice. He really did because he should be used to angels always showing up behind him. It seemed to be their thing like God had been into jump scares long before horror flicks made them cliché. He smoothed his hair down turning to see the angel looking like his normal holy tax accountant self, tie always askew.

“Hey, Cas. Thanks for coming.”

“You said it was important. Is it something you are hunting?” The angel was already looking around, searching for Dean, the one he actually liked. “Is your brother in trouble?”

“No. Well, not any more than usual. Think he’s just out drinking.” Those eyes were back on him and he felt hollowed out here like he had tricked the angel or something. “I think something’s wrong.”

Castiel for his part just stared right at him before walking closer, head tilting in that way of theirs when they were trying to understand something. Maybe they heard stuff and it helped. Sam had no clue other than it was disconcerting.

“Don’t you, uh, think it's weird Michael just let us go? I mean Zachariah was ready to murder me to get a yes from Dean. He thinks it’s just because Michael’s all into destiny but they’ve locked him up, tried to track him down but then, when the thing that wants him has him, he just let us go?”

“Yes.”

Sam nodded feeling a bit relieved that maybe his fears were justified and not fueled by lack of sleep by his helpful dream stalking Satan. Cas was quiet, still studying him like he was considering that Sam might have an armed bomb shoved up in him and Sam tried to keep his growing hysteria muffled since that might be a thing. It totally might be a thing that Michael did something to one or both of them.

“What do you remember about my older brother?” the angel finally asked.

“Nothing. I mean Anael shoved something in my chest. I never saw him.”

“I see,” Cas said tilting his head now the other way. Sam wondered if maybe he did that to hear different frequencies, like celestial infested humans, were easier to pick up that way. “What do you remember of the last few minutes before being stabbed by Anael?”

“Not much, really. Everything’s pretty hazy past a certain point. I guess from dying?” A slight tip of that head, close to a nod. At least he was going with that as the angel tended to stand like a statue half the time. Dean was trying to teach him to shrug and to actually sit on chairs while not looking like an uncomfortable bird.

“Anything, Sam. What were you doing?”

“We were warding the house,” he said trying to drag the memories back, feeling like they had been shoved deeper than they should be in his mind. “We had holy oil and blood sigils but then they were gone. The oil was just gone and the sigils were smears. And then it’s kind of a big blank for the most part outside of little fragments until I woke up on a bed in our room back in the present.”

“And your brother?”

“Sitting on the other bed looking all brooding.”

Cas stared at him for a minute longer, enough to make Sam fidget because he knew he was missing something in all of this and it wasn’t comforting. Something was off. Well, more off than starting an apocalypse and having heaven and hell tracking them while they tried to put it back in the box. Then the sound of the Impala, her smooth engine always penetrated the thin walls of where they stayed, and Cas was just gone. Not even a little flutter of wing beats.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean was saying as came into the room holding paper bags that smelled like they might have food. “What? Dude you okay? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Of course, his brother made that joke, chuckling a little, as if a ghost would be a surprise right now. Hell, it would be welcome if the earth was just haunted instead of tipping over the edge to being on fire.

“Yeah, fine,” he muttered, slumping into a cheap plastic chair by the equally cheap table. “Just still a bit rattled.”

“Story of our lives. But hey, no polka dots.”

Sam tried to mimic his brother’s grin, the one he always wore when he was worried and didn’t want to show it. He was fairly certain he sucked at it but Dean didn’t press, at least not yet. Sam thought he should be more worried about that than anything else.

* * *

Castiel was surprised his brother came at all. Last they had met, Gabriel had been adamant on there being no hope at stopping the coming end. All of his other pleas of assistance had fallen on deaf ears. Yet his older brother was here, staring at him as he opened his candy bar, studying him.

“Speak fast, Cassie, this is a courtesy call. I would rather not hear you whinging all up in my head.”

“I require your assistance on a few questions I have.”

“Shoot,” Gabriel said around his mouthful of candy. “Want to get you out of my hair.”

Castiel decided it would be impolite to point out he had never been in his brother’s hair and asked the first, most bothersome question to him.

“Gabriel, would I, as I am now, have enough power to get back from 1978?”

A low whistle as his brother came forward and Castiel raised his head refusing to flinch in the face of his brother’s obvious advantage. Sharp eyes were on him now, nothing playful as he was looked over. There was that strange sensation of shame, something that had been unknown to him before his meeting of Dean Winchester. He didn’t wish it to be so, he had not intentionally abandoned his family as Gabriel had, but it burned heavy all the same.

“Baby bro, how’d you even get there? Find a special on a used DeLorean?”

“I do not -“

“Never mind,” Gabriel cut him off waving his candy bar in his face, wrapper crackling. “There ain’t no way you pulled yourself back. Guessing you fried your egg pretty good jumping there. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Anael had gone back to kill John and Mary Winchester.”

“Ah, jumping for the monkeys again, Cassie.” Gabriel made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Gonna be the death of you, little brother. So what did you do there?”

“I promptly passed out upon reaching the destination when the brothers put me in a hotel room. After I awoke,” Castiel paused because it was not only Sam who felt troubled by the interference in memories. “I knew I needed to go back and pushed myself forward. I vaguely recall seeing them before becoming comatose again.”

“Well, you didn’t make that second trip without some special sauce. Did Ana beam you back?”

“She is dead,” Castiel said flatly and saw his brother’s face fall blank for a moment before resuming its merry smirk. “Michael is said to have killed her.”

“Woah, okay you know I definitely don’t want to be around you if Mike’s been near so I’m just –“

Something made him reach out and grab Gabriel, hold onto that raised hand that was about to snap himself away. Gabriel’s mouth formed a hard line, something twisting in Castiel at the thought that another of his older brothers could simply explode him out of existence all over again.

“Dean’s the only one that saw him.”

“And Dean’s still Michael free? Cause, Cassie, last time I checked, heaven was desperate for his size and shape for their Mikey condom.”

“I believe he is. I don’t know what actually happened,” Castiel finished as he let go of Gabriel’s wrist the other angel still taking a step back from him, as though he had been sent as a spy to bring him home, or worse, to bring punishment to his brother.

As angry as he was at Gabriel’s abandonment, he would never wish heaven’s wrath on him.

“I know what you want me to do and not happening, Cassie. So bop on back to your little tribe of rejects and stop broadcasting that you know about me at all.”

“Coward.”

He was thrown back before he even saw Gabriel move, crashing into a nearby tree that cracked, wood shrieking at his impact. Then his brother was there, grabbing him by his lapels and swinging him up. His vessel would heal though he disliked how much more of such things he could feel in it now the closer he raced towards human.

“You have no idea what you are talking about, little brother,” Gabriel said, all archangel, cruel and glorious outside of heaven’s light. “Don’t think you know about things you don’t.”

“I know that I have stood before Lucifer and told him no,” Castiel responded calmly, feeling blood dripping down from somewhere on his scalp. “I know that I told heaven no and was killed, only to be brought back. I know that I will not abandon the cause no matter how hopeless. Tell me what you have done, brother, besides hiding behind your masks and mourning the past.”

Something ugly was in that face looking at him now, some twisted part that Gabriel had carved into himself to fit among the heathens, to celebrate in their exuberance and excess, their ravishment of both pleasure and the flow of blood in death. It was a far cry from the bright glow of heaven’s messenger, the one that guided him in his early existence and hated the cries between Michael and Lucifer before the war. The one that he had once found weeping as only an angel could at the blood that marred everything and forbade him to speak of it.

“You were never this pompous in heaven.”

“Times change,” Castiel said knowing that Gabriel, despite what he was now, would not murder him. Hurt him, yes. Perhaps Dean was right in his assessment that angels where psychotic but he knew Gabriel would not put a blade between his ribs. “I ask again, what have you done when us ‘rejects’ at least refuse to hide our faces?”

Gabriel tossed him to the ground but not before Castiel felt the quick pulse flow into him, taking away the pain of the impact while his brother stared down at him. He pushed himself up from the loamy earth heavy with life and spring but did not step closer.

“Where was that yeti he calls a little brother when all this went on?”

“Dead or dying by Anael’s hand.”

“What did my illustrious older brother say?”

“Dean simply stated that he spoke of destiny, of still loving Lucifer but having to kill him. That he was the good son.”

“And then just sent you all skipping back through time. No dragging a screaming Dean off, no pandering for a yes, no nothing?”

“That is correct.”

Gabriel had been here a long time, Castiel mused as he watched his brother actually pace in a small pattern, back and forth with hands clasped behind his back.

“That makes no sense,” Gabriel managed finally. “I mean he’s been about destiny ever since Luci went off the rails. That’s all he was anymore.” Gabriel shook his head something strangely sharp in those words and Castiel felt himself soften towards his brother. That perhaps Gabriel did have a point when he said he did not know what was between him and Michael in Gabriel’s final days in heaven.

“It’s all I can offer. That is why we are in need of assistance. I’m not asking you to stay, only to lend me your eyes since I am not what I once was.”

Gabriel had stopped moving, looking over at him and Castiel wondered what he saw if it was pity or something else. His brother was different, but at the same time, himself. As though Gabriel had cut himself apart and reassembled everything in hopes of finding something more pleasing. A shape that would be found acceptable but still showed the harsh mauling of other’s hands.

“Damn, I’m going to have actually touch the bastard to figure it out.”

Castiel felt Dean would be proud that he finally managed a smile.

* * *

“What the hell, Cas?”

Sam immediately opened the bathroom door at his brother’s cry and took in the sight of the trickster next to their angel, all honey eyes and slick smirk. Gabriel. Sam was fairly certain this was not the help they needed unless the archangel that had been on the lam for centuries was actually going to do something. Well, something that didn’t involve putting them in time loops as part of a mind game plot.

“Relax, Deano, not here to ruffle feathers. Just came to check you out.”

_Ugh_ , Sam thought, seeing that predatory look on Gabriel’s face, the waggle of those eyebrows as the archangel stepped forward. His brother, God, Dean was fast, already had a gun out.

“I will shoot you.”

“Yeah, 'cause that’s gonna slow me down. What part of celestial being does that thick, meat-filled skull of yours not get?”

“Cas, man, why him?” Dean’s attention was to their friend who was as stone-faced as always still a few feet away. “Why’d you have to go get the mental midget who, I might add, keeps playing games with us?”

“My brother needs to look at you. Something is not right.”

“Yeah, no, not going to happen,” Dean was saying backing up looking for a way out. Like there was a way to outrun an angel. “Nothing wrong, so just fly away.”

“He does smell a bit funkier than the last time I saw him, Cassie.”

“Get out.”

Dean was looking at him now and Sam swallowed because he should have been making a banishing sigil like a good little brother. He should have been doing something to stop this but he knew they were right. Things were off, didn’t add up with heaven so hot for Dean and he’d been right there. Like Lucifer would care how he got his vessel. Then the whole war would have been on track and they wouldn’t be here right now. Wouldn’t exist like this.

“Sorry, Deano, this is gonna hurt a lot, got to take your voice for a second,” Gabriel was saying and Sam was acting too late. Trying to cut his hand to make a sigil as Castiel grabbed him.

There was light and the archangel’s hand was in his brother’s chest. Actually in it and, damn, even falling Cas was super strong holding him back. He was trying to say his brother’s name, force it past his lips as Dean’s head was thrown back in a silent howl of pain.

Light laced up under Dean’s skin and he was sure his brother was going to explode any moment, a feeling of energy expanding in the room to the point of suffocation as Gabriel’s eyes glowed brighter. The pressure was growing, Gabriel looking like he was trembling as he kept hold of something inside Dean, and Sam feared he had failed his brother all over again.

He always trusted the wrong people.

Then that hand was out, the glow fading, and Dean slumping unconscious into Gabriel’s arms. Dean at least looked peaceful, the pain that had radiated from him moments before gone and Sam hoped it wasn’t a lasting thing.

“Brother?” Cas asked still pinning him down, and Sam wanted to point out he was calmer now that Dean wasn’t being maimed.

“Well, shit,” Gabriel said putting his brother on the bed. “Fractured and broken, a bit fragmented, but that’s Mike.”

“No,” Sam whispered shaking his head because after everything they couldn’t be about to lose. His brother couldn’t have said yes or been tortured into. Gabriel was looking over his way now, something contemplative in his eyes.

“I don’t think your bro said yes,” the archangel said like he was choosing words so they didn’t hit him so hard. “That grace in there was bound in his soul, needed to be fully released.”

None of this made any sense and now Dean was in danger and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. And that didn’t even begin to help with that terrible dread of where Michael actually was and who was leading this whole frigging mess in heaven. Sam pressed his face against the musty carpet and screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

He groaned before he even opened his eyes and they were his eyes no matter how strange it was to own both a body and a soul. That had to be a new one to most, well, any angel. As soon as his eyes were open he snapped them back closed, everything was so bright and radiant and just not human it made him queasy.

“Breath, for fuck's sake,” he commanded himself trying to slide back, let what he was used to taking over. It worked; things were only a bit gleaming now instead of too much all at once.

Pushing himself up he already knew where he was, Bobby’s spare room before the rest of his senses tried to overload him with information. If he was all angel it would be different, wouldn’t be so damn bad. All he had were scraps of memories, most of them nightmares, with no big answers, no revelations. Like someone had hit a mirror with a sledgehammer then expected him to put it back together. A lot of pieces and some were probably ground down to dust.

He’d have to talk to Gabriel about being a bit more gentle and swallowed back the grief that he was fairly certain his brother had abandoned him all over again.

 _Not now,_ he told himself getting himself up, the strange sensation of being much more, stretched out, too big for this body, and it was overwhelming. Yet he wasn’t all here. He was wounded and Lucifer was running around waiting to get him. Killing him could end up being merciful and his baby brother never did understand mercy. Lucifer would always be that kid that liked to pull the wings off of small creatures to watch them suffer. He would love to get his hands on him like this, all broken up. Christ, he couldn’t even remember how to call his sword to this plane.

He rubbed his face, trying to merge his human life and angelic. Sam had picked up on something, something with what had happened with Anael and a rush went over him. It was him standing in front of her, feeling nothing. Just empty, pressing his hand to her, watching her flameout knowing that disobedience was to be punished by death.

Images flowed and separated, some kind of frickin’ angelic disassociation that he had had a conversation with himself, healed Sam, and went to Cas. Whispering to him that he had to go forward and pushing him, unseen and unknown.

His mind was still protesting, even with his grace restored in pieces that Uriel had been there. Dean thought he had talked to him, did the bastard know? Did he report to heaven? Was he confused? Did he do something so the traitorous, murderous son of a bitch wouldn’t tell?

Was he far enough gone that he had created some kind of projection? Was seeing him what drove Uriel to his defection and violent ways in the name of Lucifer?

The memories were mashed together, what he thought happened wasn’t the same as what had and he was terrified at what he had actually done. There had been a bright light over dad, the thought of his reality wasn't well-founded and the full extent of his madness was unfolding before him in mixed up images that could never be pieced together.

The idea that he had tried to sell himself hopelessness in the name of duty made bile rise in the back of his throat.

“Not helping,” he said to the empty room.

That chill he had felt, that there was nothing left, no rage or love, just the empty need to obey was still deep and gnawing in him.

 _Gotta get up_ , he told himself. _I can’t sit here and drive myself crazier._

He still had his wings, foreign and welcomed at the same time. Pushing them out he could feel them catch on the unseen gateways he traveled on, had traveled on for eons before this point.

Cas would probably be offended after all his complaints about angel airlines. Little dude would take it personally that he wasn’t a good flyer or something.

At least he wasn’t in the panic room. Though given that mutilated or not, he was still an archangel, there wasn’t a whole lot to hold him down. He wondered if anyone was here. Wasn’t like sitting here mulling and trying to put together his two halves would answer that as he made his way to the door.

“Well you’re up,” Bobby’s wary voice floated up from the bottom of the stairs and Dean blinked a few times at the man standing there.

“Bobby, your –“

“Yeah, yeah. Your, I guess, brother did it when I got the panicked garbled version,” Bobby answered, voice short, and Dean knew that tone. The one that said _I still love you but I am so pissed that I am trying not to shoot you_. “So I got legs. What I need to know is what you’re doing.”

“Still me, Bobby.”

“Uh-huh, just a more super-powered and confused looking version.”

Dean didn’t miss how the man moved back as he came down the stairs, didn’t miss the small movements that told him in no uncertain terms to stay away. There was no one else here, he was clear enough now to pick up on that, which meant Gabriel probably had them. Waiting to see what was going to happen. If he was going to run out and burn down the world in his current state.

It didn’t help the part of him that was programmed to obey pounded in him. The fear of being disobedient, of displeasing Father and, holy hell, was the whole human part of him was having problems with the God thing right now.

“You fly?” Bobby was asking and he turned his attention back to the man still in the hallway, face pale but set.

“You want me gone.”

“Son,” Bobby stopped trying to correct himself and Dean shook his head.

“I still have my soul. I’m still Dean. I just happen to be a broken archangel.”

The old hunter took off his ever-present cap, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. This was awful, even more so with the knowledge of it being his fault. He had ended up this way and broke in hell as an archangel. A fucking archangel even if he wasn’t fully himself or had any of his grace it didn’t matter in the end because he had broken the seal. He set this in motion and couldn’t hold his shit together enough to save Sam. Not to mention heaven being off the rails and he only could hear their echo right now.

“Dean,” Bobby tried but he could hear it in that voice, would always be able to hear it now.

“I’ll leave,” he said stretching out his wings again, feeling the ebb and flow of the current in them. “I don’t want to see you terrified of me.”

Before Bobby could answer he pushed off to somewhere safe and far away, somewhere that he wouldn’t be found for a while.

* * *

When the call came, Castiel was surprised at how tentative it was, no note of command just a quiet request, and after a glance over at Gabriel, he answered, unsure what to expect in the aftermath of all this. He alighted beside a lake that reflected the deepening shadows of twilight. A small park area across on the other side that he saw some humans still in, none paying them any mind, the land around them expansive and flat with tall grass and a few clusters of trees to provide shade.

“I’m surprised you came.”

Michael’s back was to him on the shore, the man skipping rocks across the placid water surface. Castiel tilted his head, the archangel fused with that soul now knew he was there but made no hostile act towards him. 

“I will not leave you unless you ask me to.”

Some sort of strange laugh, something that didn’t belong to a human or an angel and it made him tremble. Michael was hurt and while he did not think his brother would intentionally harm him he worried. He worried since he believed Dean had hallucinated, that part of Michael’s fractured grace had been active and killed Anael when she killed Sam. Despite what she did, he knew Michael’s power, his love of Father, of his obedience, even if he had not seen it in so long.

“It was Raphael that exploded you, cast you down. I didn’t hurt you, Cas,” Michael’s voice was soft and the Castiel made a soft sound of assent. “Well outside of our first meeting. Really friggin ironic, considering.”

Castiel stepped forward as Michael still had not turned. His brother’s face was blank, the same way he had always accused other angels of having, of being too stoic.

“Used to take Sam here, a long time ago, if we were in the area. Good place for this,” Michael said, managing to skip another rock across the surface. Castiel was fairly certain there was no mojo, as they would put it, involved. “How is he?”

“Shaken, a bit scared. We explained to him what we know.”

Michael leaned his head back staring up at the sky that was slowly turning a soft pink of a sunset in its overcast state. “I’m still here.” Michael finally tilted his head to take him in. “I’m still Dean, Cas.”

Castiel made a small movement to show he understood but it was hard. Hard to see the soul he dragged tattered and bleeding from the pit begging to be thrown back because he was unworthy like this. To know it had been a part of something more and how far heaven had fallen. Of how Dean could even survive when Michael, as fractured as he was, was still so strong.

Of the crimes he had committed in the name of heaven against this man and brother.

“I already know most of them,” Michael said, slight smile before he returned his attention back to the lake. “I’m not stupid and you think loudly.”

“I am sorry, for Sam –“

“Sam wasn’t your fault. Not in the end,” Michael cut him off letting another rock dance across the water’s surface. “Sammy made his own choices. Not everything was his fault but he still chose poorly. I forgive him, though.”

Then Michael was just there in front of him gripping his shoulder face inches away and Castiel remembered Dean’s lectures on personal space. He didn’t try to free himself, just looked resolutely ahead. “I forgive you too, you know.”

“Thank you,” Castiel responded, fully expecting that forgiveness to come with the point of his blade. Instead, he got a laugh, something much cleaner and clearer that danced like the rocks had on the lake.

“Hell, Cas, I can’t remember how to manifest my blade properly here right now.” Michael was smiling like it was the best secret in the world. “I can’t properly defend myself but you know what I do remember?”

“What?” Castiel asked as he felt it was a prompt, something Dean liked to do.

“The day you were made, little brother.” Michael gently cupped his cheek before pulling away. “I am sorry for the pain you carry, for how you are now.”

“I would do it again,” he said since it was true. He would to save this world, even if this was the outcome of his sacrifice. To give them all a chance. “I am, however, glad to know it was not you who ordered my torture in heaven.”

Michael’s face had a curious look to it, something that was both anger and grief as Castiel watched.

“I’m, God Cas, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“You would have stopped it if you could have,” Castiel said, certain on that point. That this man who had once been his friend would have prevented a lot of things if they had known sooner.

“Still you’re friend,” Michael said and then laughed. “Loud thoughts. Man, I know I complained but I get it now. I haven’t found a volume button on some things yet. It’s a little fritzy in here still.”

Castiel could only stare at his brother. He was falling, feeling the slow flow into all the new sensations that humans had. He could not imagine suddenly being slammed into it all at once. He was not sure he would be able to handle how overwhelming it all was.

“We need a plan to stick my brother back downstairs, there is much to be done.” Michael clapped him on the shoulder and Castiel watched him stare back off across the lake remembering a childhood he should never have known. A human and archangel fused together.

Perhaps all was not lost yet.

* * *

“Hey, De – I mean Michael,” Sam stuttered, wiping his hands on his jeans because he was sweating. This was something that looked like his brother, he reminded himself and then got an eye roll.

“Jesus, a man gets some grace up in him and y’all act like he forgets everything. Still Dean, Sammy.” His brother had a glower on him, something only Dean could pull off and he wanted to believe. He so did because it meant his brother wasn’t swallowed up forever.

“Dean,” he said and felt like a slow toddler.

Fortunately, his brother just hugged him at that point and he got to stop talking which he felt was a good thing.

“Gabriel, we will talk about you abandoning me later. I can only handle so much awkward crap in one day,” Dean was saying as Sam remembered that, yes, there was another archangel here. One who was nervous, shifty, and looking rather flee-y.

“Always a sweet talker, Mikey,” came Gabriel’s response and Sam noted he was still across the room leaning up against the wall. “Found out what I think happened to the rest of you.”

“And that would be? We ain’t got all day here. Sit, Sam, before you fall over and make a crater in Gabriel’s construct,” Dean told him and Sam threw a bitch face though his brother was right.

So he sat his over-grown ass down on the sofa and tried not to think about how he was the blood addicted junkie who screwed a demon and then screwed over the Prince of Heaven who was his own brother all along. Because if he started thinking about that again he’d probably cry and get Samantha comments and he couldn’t handle it. He would never be able to come to terms with the extent of the damage he had done to just his brother and tried to pull himself together when he saw Dean glance at him.

“Spit it out, Gabriel. Got things to do here.”

“Fine, you always were impatient,” Gabriel muttered and Sam figured this wasn’t good news. “I don’t think the grace you don’t have is actually missing.”

“Aw, so those holes in me were always there. Awesome.”

“If you shut it while I finish,” Gabriel snapped as Dean raised an eyebrow, “I mean it’s your soul. All that extra energy that was you got folded up into your Dean soul there. The fragments that are left weren’t needed or lost maybe if you were injured.”

“That should not be possible,” Castiel was saying and Sam wanted to agree here. That sounded insane but Gabriel just shrugged.

“Don’t ask me but it’s the best I got, especially when I had to rearrange you a bit in there to not be so, well, cray-cray.”

“Did he always have that grace then?” Sam asked then realized he should probably be asking Dean that instead, but it was Gabriel who answered all the same.

“I didn’t smell it before and guessing he would have hulked out way before if he had his grace all this time. Guessing you managed to make yourself uncomfortable throwing around angel-be-gone oil and blood and wiped it out yourself even if it invited hostile critters through the door."

"Awesome." Dean stared up at the ceiling and Sam had a terrible realization that his brother had zero ideas what had really happened in those minutes. "Good to know I'm still great at battle planning."

There was a gnawing sensation in him, a cold chill that made him wonder if the angel portion all locked up in there was trying to get this whole thing back on track, if maybe, if Dean was that fragmented, then whatever part was Michael was attempting to try to obey and get things how he thought God wanted.

A curious look from Dean and Sam swallowed, reminded himself he was the human in the room with a bunch of mind readers and busied himself with trying to get a fleck of dirt out from one of his nails and not by simply chewing it down.

"Any wild notions as to when I melded with my other self?"

"Touched any trees recently that made you feel all tingly and good?”

“Not that I recall, no. Memory’s a bit screwed up but don’t remember any tree humping recently.”

“Just in the past?”

“Gabe, you are my brother but I will stab you.”

Sam swallowed as they bickered because yeah the Archangel Michael, his brother, had suffered in hell and there was something terrible about that. That God would let it happen, to let his brother hurt that much and then he had been an asshole –

A hand was on him and the world tilted at the force of angel travel. That strange dizzy sensation and he was sitting on the shore of a lake. He squinted, fairly certain where he was even with just the moon above them reflecting on the water. Dean was squatting beside him, his face with the weird look only he could get when he was concerned and not wanting to show it.

“You looked on the edge of a meltdown so I pulled you. Because I can do that now. Always told you I was an awesome brother, Sammy,” Dean said thumping himself down beside him on the shore.

They were quiet and Sam didn’t know where to begin. It wasn’t something he could run from anymore, the sheer magnitude of this. He couldn’t push it down and away and rationalize the whole previous year where he had just left his brother because Dean was too weak.

He knew the truth now and something felt spoiled in him, rotten and festering, wondering how Dean had even put up him for so long after they had stood on the brink of annihilation as Lucifer screamed upwards.

“You made some bad choices –“

“I betrayed you,” he got out because it had to be said. Had to have it out there and in the open. Because in the wake of this, of knowing what had happened, he was essentially Lucifer all over again even if Satan was still separate. His brother looked at him and even in the dim light available, there was a sharpness to those features now. “I can’t -.”

Words wouldn’t come and he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. It would never be enough.

“Okay, Sam,” Dean said quietly since Sam knew he was losing it and his brother sighed, pulling him close. “Doing the crying thing? Yep, doing the crying thing. God, Samantha.”

“I don’t think angels should blaspheme.”

“Well, technically I’m only like half-angel crazy glued to a banged-up soul so I don’t know if it counts,” Dean said rubbing his shoulder and Sam wanted to point out that the banged-up soul was his fault when he got a sharp knock across the shoulder blades. “My being in hell was never your fault, Sammy. Never. Yeah, you did shit things but you ripped yourself back from the edge of damnation and aren’t responsible for my trip downstairs. Got it?”

A soft ‘okay’ was all he could manage.

“Good. Now cry it out, you big baby, because we got stuff to do and a world to save. A bunch of ass to kick in heaven and I need you to not break down every five minutes. Get it out and then pull it together.”

As they sat alone here, he was surprised to feel Dean’s hand in his hair, a warmth in him that granted him peace for the first time in so long.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

The ring warbled on the table before coming to a stop, famine's black stone before him as he sat in Gabriel's construct, unsure how wild his human family was about having him bumming around Bobby's right this second.

He was surprised Gabriel was willing to put his neck this much on the line, even if it had been an easy in and out. Returning after dropping Sam off with the old man, he had expected his brother to have spread his wings and bury himself until the sun went supernova. There was a part of him that worried more than he let on about Gabriel willingly following an order and actually doing it, not using it as an excuse to escape. 

“Where?”

“Some little town, people doing all sorts of wondrous things like eating each other during sexy fun times,” Gabriel said and Dean made a face at that news. Definitely not sexy fun times, then. “Oh, and the place was full of demons. So guess the ulterior motive there, just in case.”

“Don’t remind me,” Dean said picking up the ring feeling the taint of the horseman on it. War and Death he had always been able to understand to some degree but the other two, no. Just destruction for destruction's sake without morality or reason.

His brother was watching him tight-lipped, a few paces away now and Dean sighed, seeing the angel in there. Gabriel was letting him actually see under his plaster of wards and sigils and all the other maiming he had done to himself to keep him off heaven’s radar. Except the archangel, all wrapped up and folded inside that small body that glowed like amber was far more welcoming than Gabriel’s human face.

“We need the other two rings. Have they surfaced?”

“No. But one of them probably will with Luci’s little plan with famine shot to hell.”

He stared down at the ring on the table trying to calculate what Morning Star would do next to torture Sam. He wouldn’t know that he wasn’t in heaven, wasn’t up there leading the charge. What Raphael was thinking with this he didn’t know outside of maybe trying to lure him back. Or things had gotten so bad that his little brother was just insane and didn’t care anymore. That was a genuine possibility. At least Sam was safe, with Bobby and Castiel and he could figure a way out of this corner. Since even if he wanted a world-ending battle he couldn’t fight it like he was now.

“So, if that’s –“

“One of the last memories of heaven I have is the day you abandoned me,” Dean said, spinning the ring on the table, watching the disgusting thing fall and clatter on the wood. Gabriel was still but remained where he was. At least he hadn’t run away yet.

“Can’t change it. What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know, Gabriel. I’d ask for a promise that you just won’t bolt before we have to send Lucifer back but we both know how well that went last time.”

Gabriel’s hands were in tight fists, the angel in there brighter than he had been, something close to rage, and Dean smirked at him. As if something that bad could be forgotten even with the patchwork job he had going on. Words like eternally and always had been used. Right before his brother skipped on out the door after dear old Dad and Raphael was becoming distant and cruel, blaming him for being too weak.

“I’ll find a way to clean it up. Like I always do, like all of you make me do.” He can’t help the bitter tone, the fine carves he knew his brother felt from them. “Can’t fix Lucifer but have to lock him in hell and be commanded to kill him. Then blamed for it and abandoned. Expected to run everything, everything!” He hit his fist against the table watching the ring bounce slightly. “Even here I get the messed up family where I’m raising Sammy and patching up dad and being told I have to lock up my brother and then kill him. Jesus, I’m like some fucking tragic hero destined to lose everything over and over again on some sick loop.”

He couldn’t say the last words, that maybe it was like this because he had failed so badly and kept failing. Kept doing the wrong thing over and over again but he never had a chance. He followed commands and he failed. He went against the commands and failed. Nothing was ever good enough and it wouldn’t matter anyway. If they could spare the earth and sort out heaven maybe he could be somewhere else.

_DARBS OL PASH OD DOBIX GE DE ORS DA I ASCHA Q TELOC_

That charge thundered through him, ripped into his grace and soul combined and he shook. He couldn’t disobey. To disobey was death in its own right –

_OL BIA I A CRIP FAFEN OL TRIAN G TRIAN_

“Michael!”

Gabriel’s voice finally reached him, the warmth of his brother flowing through him, over him soothing that hollow, that torn fray of what he was and he bowed his head. He was shaking, grateful that he could not have pulled his weapon here as Gabriel held his arms. There was terror and worry in those eyes, in that angel deep inside.

“You may need to kill me when this is over,” he said quietly and he watched horror mix in with all the other emotions, like a cascade of grief that had never been shed. “I hear the old commands,” he couldn’t finish and for the first time, he felt like all Michael instead of a soul mixed in with grace. It was a strange sensation of his age and loss, of how bad it could get.

This seduction of absolute obedience from so long ago which would wipe away the weight that was crushing and riping him wide open, drown the doubt he was never designed to feel, resting just under his skin.

“Let’s take one major problem at a time, okay?” Gabriel was saying, head against his shoulder and he knew to save them Gabriel would. He could give permission for this, to put him down before he went on an unintentional murder spree. He’d already killed Anael, who knew how much blood was on his hands not spilled from wars.

“Don’t, Michael. Not right now.”

Dean nodded, just relishing in the feel of his brother close to him for however long it lasted this time.

* * *

“What do you mean he’s staying away?” Sam knew it wasn’t wise to get up in the face of an archangel but it was his brother, damn it. There was no reason why Dean should feel like he couldn’t be with them.

“Woah, kiddo, dial it down.” Gabriel was pushing him back gently with no real force.

Sam reluctantly took a step back glad to see both Bobby and Cas not looking too thrilled at this news either. They were in Bobby’s study, rain hitting the window in a steady stream like the weather was even unhappy with this turn of events. A crack of thunder and he sat on the couch hoping that the storm outside was natural.

“The problem is that he still has some really old,” Gabriel paused, staring up at the ceiling as he searched for a word, “programming for lack of anything better. Older than most of creation, older than the choir which includes you, Cassie. We weren’t exactly love and sunshine and lollipops.”

“And your point being he might act on it?” Bobby asked looking more grumpy than normal when Gabriel gave a slight nod. “Anyway to get him not too?”

“Don’t know. I managed to calm him when he flipped his lid but I honestly don’t know what he would do if it took over. So, working on avoiding accidentally exploding you lot since I don't need him with more of a complex."

Sam felt a sinking inside of him as he rubbed his face with his hands. This was bad, or at least it sounded really bad. Like they could defeat Lucifer or send him back to hell and save the world and Dean could go bonkers and burn everything down anyways. He leaned his head back, stared at the ceiling, and took several deep breaths because freaking out right now wasn’t going to help. It was still his brother, archangel or not, who needed them.

“So what can we do?” he asked.

“Best plan right now is to have Bobby stay here and you and Castiel go palling around in the Impala,” Gabriel said summoning up a lollipop. “Make it look normal like nothing is wrong. Don’t think heaven caught wind of anything weird on our end yet. So dress up nice, if anything asks, say Dean left and I’ll keep an eye on all of you. Let’s not sit around looking like we’re up to something.”

Sam nodded and glanced at Bobby and Cas who looked more determined now.

“Anything we should be looking out for?” the old hunter asked pouring himself out a glass of whiskey.

“Yeah, my sadistic brother sending nightmares for you because Sam is still hot property and he wants it bad.”

“Thanks, Gabriel,” he muttered. “That will definitely help my sleep problems.”

“Anything to help, Sam-a-lam.” The archangel gave him a toothy grin that somehow was menacing. 

He wasn't sure if he wanted to ask if Dean heard prayers at all, or if it would help, or, hell, what name he should even use. A part of him was terrified that if he started praying to his brother then all this would become too real, that Dean was never coming back to him in any form and the next time he saw them it would be all Michael, all the time, and he wasn't sure who Michael was.

Outside of the fact, that weird little piece that gave him some margin to cling to, was that he had been dead, really and truly dead. That, not just mom and dad being threatened, was what had sparked all that dormant grace that had at some point decided to cling to Dean's soul. The idea of Dean seeing him die, not wanting to fail him, ready to do anything to fix it and he felt something heavy in him, stuck in throat like a sob he could never get out even if it threatened to choke him and he needed to stop thinking for a few minutes at least. 

Bobby was pouring himself more whiskey and he was thankful the old man wasn't watching him right at this moment as he got himself a glass, getting another for Cas who had drifted over to the old man's desk to join them.

"Do you wish to follow signs of the apocalypse or simple hunting cases in our time together?" Cas asked him, very serious, as Bobby poured the shots without complaints about needing to buy more whiskey soon if that kept up. 

At least Cas didn't look put out over second-string babysitting duties even if he stood soldier stiff, fingers delicate on the glass, and Sam willed away memories of the angel drinking with Ellen before she died. Cas drinking at all, would feel the need to, was unutterably sad and he held in a question about just how the angel was truly doing.

"Hunting, probably fewer demons that way," he said after giving it some thought, the whiskey burning his throat, glad to see a nod of approval over that one.

What he also didn't miss was the way Gabriel was watching him, his face inscrutable. 

* * *

Dean found him in a cemetery too close for comfort to Bobby, disliking that it had taken only a few days of searching, and he shifted into the horseman’s plane. The spectral figure gave him little mind, his angelic eyes taking in his large form beneath the human exterior he liked to wear, dark as the original void and there was something like terror and peace in it all at once. He was rebuilding, the body forming and sculpting under his hands, and Dean made sure to keep himself from being seen by it.

“You found me sooner than expected,” Death said, almost pleasantly. “Good, I do not care to be bound for longer than necessary.”

“Don’t suppose you’ll just hand over the ring?”

“I will when this task is done. You may thank me later, despite its implications, as it will buy you more time.”

Dean already knew that part of it, why it was so close to Bobby’s was to help break them. What Lucifer still thought was a team of humans and a falling angel. He probably blamed Cas for the surprise Famine nuke because Morning Star had always been short-sighted that way.

“Well easier than I thought. Just want me to wait?” he tried for a grin as he shoved his hands into his pockets. The soul and body were released onto the physical plane, they were lost to its sight as it looked around in confusion. Then it made its way back towards the road and to the city, scared and frightened and all parts of him ached for what was happening to the humans here.

“I assume you want answers.” Death’s voice startled him out of his thoughts and he looked back over the old man forming the next one and was halfway through. A staggered release, a staggered horror when it all went bad. Lucifer hadn’t changed one bit.

“Like for what? Why my brothers are douchebags cause not sure I want to know anymore.”

“As for why you are the way you are.”

Dean rocked back on heels, Death not even glancing over as he finished his work and started on the next. “And you know this how?”

“I was the one who guided the reapers to make sure you survived.”

The words were simple, Dean knew he had heard them correctly but it wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right because that meant he had been injured by something strong enough to do that at the time. Gabriel had been gone, not that he could have ever done it, he didn’t think Raphael was that insane yet and there wasn’t anything else. He remembered the Cage door slamming, damn it. He remembered quite a way past there, including being the only one left who could hear Lucifer.

“How?” he finally got out as they moved down to the next. Death raised a hand calling the soul to him, one of the only beings able to wrest a worthy spirit from the arms of heaven into something as treacherous as this.

“You maimed yourself, child.”

“No!” It wasn’t loud and he barely managed to control his anger that rage to reach out and shake the horseman because he shouldn’t touch. The angelic part of him screamed about that. He shouldn’t manhandle Death who was now looking at him, hands pausing in his formation of the next poor slob to be used. “I would never do that.”

“You did,” Death said without judgment. “Your heart was broken, even bound I knew that. In the end, you were bleeding out instead of just gone. I whispered to them how to save you. You, Michael, are not something that can be easily rebuilt but the energy can be changed.”

“You did this to me. You kept me around to make sure I could help you now, you bastard,” Dean hissed as Death moved again picking another stone to start work at. Time was passing, it had been hours on earth by this point. Hours wasted and he needed that ring. Not this, whatever this was.

“I would have brought you peace by reaping you if you were not needed to head off this travesty.”

His fingers bit into his palms, he knew he was drawing blood, that it dripped down but there was no pain. Not anymore. He was so tired of cleaning up messes, of being left with it all and he wanted to find his Father and scream ‘why me’ at him. Shake him till he got an answer or just ceased.

“Hate to tell you but it wasn’t a great job,” he spat out and Death gave him a glance, something old and amused and a little threatening.

“They did the best they could. I see nothing that needs to be fixed unless you chose not to find a way to control it.”

“Sure. Awesome. I feel so much better,” he got out. “And my grace? Just what? Floating around in the atmosphere until it was time to come home?”

“I only reap your angelic side; I am not responsible for its location.”

Which of course meant it was a Dad thing, probably some random tree given the time passed, whenever it had occurred. The sickening memory haunting him of Lucifer throwing him against a tree in a tantrum over being shot with The Colt and it seemed like something He would do. The impact had knocked him cold, his grace a fractured bleeding mass of splinters probably just slithering into his body while Morning Star was too busy gloating with his schemes and pettiness to even notice the change. 

A little twisted game, all of this was in the end.

He forced himself to refocus. At least this mind screw might explain how Cas was able to find them in the middle of all that mess with pinpoint accuracy since his and Sam's ribs were slathered up in warding, even if the little guy hadn't been fully aware of it. One happy thought floating in a sea wasn't enough to keep his head above water.

Death rose to move to the next and they walked until he saw the grave and all the anger rushed out of him. “No. Just no.”

“Now you have learned why he sent me here.”

“Give me the ring. Stop this.”

“Michael, you know he will be suspicious and you need time. You have the upper hand, I know you are smart enough to use it.”

Dean closed his eyes not wanting to see the soul of Karen Singer torn from heaven, the home he could barely hear. He couldn’t hear prayers or most of his brothers or anything that had once brought him peace. He was mutilated, his own monster, and according to this thing he had done it to himself. It was impossible but he couldn’t remember.

“Some things could not be saved and some memories perhaps are best not sought after,” Death said closer now and he opened his eyes.

Karen Singer was making her way home, arms wrapped around her and he knew what would happen to her and to all the others. The horror his brother made, they would clean up again but not before it ate away at all these people trying to survive here. Death was holding his ring out, pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“I always liked you, Michael, obedient and devoted.”

Dean took the ring, alone now with its cold weight in his fingers, and on instinct, he called to Gabriel who was just there. His brother was confused, warmth all around him, speaking to him, and he couldn’t stop shaking.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Sam was turning restless in his sleep in these early morning hours as Castiel watched over him. In his current condition, there was little he could do for the boy except comfort him upon waking. Allow him to know that he was not alone in his struggles, that there were those that stood beside him, even if they could not be here in person. A small sound then the boy stilled. It would be a while before Lucifer let him go, unrested and unwell, worn down like a stone in a swift stream, regardless of the dreams that formed.

“Castiel.”

He had felt his brother before he arrived, a courtesy he knew to him so that he would not be surprised but he did not like what he saw. Gabriel was serious, there was nothing of the mirth he normally possessed and he knew something had happened.

“You must not return to Sioux Falls for the time being,” Gabriel went on, stiff and sober. He missed his playful brother, the one of old who laughed and flew through heaven like a bright streak. “I need you to keep going east. You’ll need this.”

His brother was handing him a cell phone and Castiel stared at it. “I already have one.”

“My contact will call you on it. Don’t panic, it’s a demon.”

“That does not set my mind at ease,” Castiel said dryly staring at Gabriel, trying to understand what had happened. Something had disturbed his older brother greatly. “Is Dean –“

“Fine. Everything will be fine. Last horse rider, need you two to go sniff for a bit. Look interested and bring back intel.”

“And of Death?”

“Taken care of.”

Then Gabriel was just gone as though he desired not to answer any more questions. Castiel had a deep need to call Michael or Bobby, to ask what had happened. If they were still alive since in his state he doubted he would know of their deaths.

Sam twitched again, and Castiel could not help but to reach out, look into his mind, terrified he would see his fallen brother’s true face. To his horror, that was not the face he was seeing, but Michael’s. The archangel dying, reaching out, begging release as he bled upon creation, Sam unable to save him as the reapers came.

“Gabriel,” he whispered, surprised when his brother returned.

The archangel could see the dream, already knew, muttering something about the damn psychics as he brushed his fingers against Sam’s forehead. The dream of Michael melded into one of Dean taking Sam out to park when they were both so young that Dean had an innocence about him.

As Gabriel left he wished that he could grant Michael those lost moments all over again, give them to him as a shelter.

Instead, he sat on the opposite bed, focused on what was around them now. He could not help Sam in his battles with Lucifer but he could ensure their safety. To wait until morning when they would start again. He did not know what to tell Sam that would make him not want to turn back around. He felt it good that at least he had few hours to sort out that lie, a terrible necessity he was learning to cope with.

Minutes ticked by and he paused in his ruminations, offering a prayer to Michael that he be well and that he would gladly stay with Sam, not knowing if his brother and friend could hear his voice anymore. 

* * *

“This is a terrible plan.”

“We do not have a plan,” Castiel answered as Sam drove down the backroads heading east and tried not to groan.

The angel was right. They didn’t have a plan. They didn’t even have a clue as to what was going on except that they were supposed to be waiting for some random call to get information to go after a horseman. Which in the realm of nuttiness was ranking up there but they probably could crank the whole thing higher.

“Not the point, Cas,” he finally said, the Impala pushing eighty though he didn’t even know why he was speeding. It wasn’t like they had a destination, just a goal in a vague, uneasy sort of way. “I mean, I know why they are trying to distract Lucifer, why we need to keep him thinking we’re doing what we were doing but Dean’s marbles are spilling out, Cas. I should be there to help with that.” The angel looked at him and Sam rolled his eyes. “Put them back in, not make it worse.”

“Gabriel is there to assist and is the safest around him if something happens. Bobby is assisting with directing hunters to other trouble spots. This is our part.”

“Uh-huh.”

Sam was not convinced. Oh no, and it wasn’t just the lack of sleep that was starting to really get bad. It felt like he had been run over and had someone jump up and down on him afterward to make sure he was done. Just over and over, so much of it just knowing that Lucifer’s game was to torture him in this slow methodic way that any sleep provided little rest regardless if Satan himself was present and it made so little sense. Didn’t any of these dickheads ever stop and think about being nice? That they would probably fall all over themselves for nice at this point? Not that he was going to point that out to the devil dream stalking him. He didn’t need more help in that area, thank you very much.

The ring of the phone made him jump and of course, it was ‘I’m Too Sexy’. Sam managed to pull the car over as Cas just stared at the phone in confusion.

“Here,” Sam said reaching over and picking up the call. “Hello?”

“Sam? Hey, thought it might be Castiel,” said a familiar voice that sounded skittish over the phone.

"Chuck?" Sam asked slowly as he lowered the cell, hitting the speaker, Cas looking over and listening intently.

“Yeah, hey guys. I always hate doing this meta thing. Makes the headaches worse.”

“Uh, sorry about that.”

A sigh, something rustling, and Sam wondered how much he had to drink at this point as it sounded like a glass falling over, shattering, and some muffled cursing. “Look, I only got a window of like, uh, maybe a few minutes, well, not even that. I’m the call to make you tolerate the second. I think that’s how it works. I don’t know, man, I just obey the scary angel.”

“Which scary angel?” Cas asked since that described most of them.

“That pagan one of our mutual acquaintance. Though I rather wish he wasn’t. He put candy in all my kitchen drawers. Took hours to clean up.”

That answered that question then. He didn’t think heaven’s brigade would do that if they were trying to impersonate Gabriel simply because they wouldn’t think of it and didn’t appear to be the creative crowd. Cas was staring at the phone, seeming to think about something.

“Look, he got me a brief out of heaven’s radar thing so they don’t know what’s happening with your brother. You’re going to get a phone call and you need to trust who’s calling. Well trust, not so much, as to know he’s not trying to screw you over right now.”

“Who is it?”

“A demon.”

“What?” was all Sam could get out before something like a timer dinged in the background on Chuck’s end.

“Sorry guys, gotta go, times up.”

There was a flash on the screen of the dropped call and Sam looked over at the angel. “I feel not comforted, you?”

Before the angel could answer the phone rang out with the same song again, displaying a different number and Sam sighed. Because it was bad, worse than he figured, as he answered, automatically turning on speakerphone.

“Hello?”

“Giant. I assume feathers is with you.” A British voice that Sam couldn’t place. It was slightly familiar but he couldn’t say, though Cas’ face was stormy.

“Who is this?”

“Your friendly neighborhood demon, Crowley.”

“Yeah no,” Sam said, ending the call.

“Sam.”

“Cas, that is the bastard that gave us the Colt. That sent us after Lucifer with something that wouldn’t kill the bastard and almost got us all killed. That got Jo and Ellen dead. Not dealing with a demon.”

“Perhaps we should hear him out,” the angel was saying as the phone rang. Sam just glared at it harder, willing it to combust. “Gabriel went to a great length to try to get us to understand why this was necessary.”

Sam still refused before Cas let out a soft sound and answered hitting the button for speakerphone that Sam assumed he had watched done before.

“Speak,” the angel growled.

“Look I don’t like you, you don’t like me. We can move past that,” the slimily bastard said.

“You sent us into a trap.”

“I did no such thing!” the demon protested. “Look, honestly I didn’t know it wouldn’t work. I swear, a true blue mistake but we learn from them and nothing’s changed. I still want the devil dead. Well,” Crowley paused and Sam waited, wanting to hang up again. “He knows I want him dead now which now makes me the most buggered son in all of creation.”

“I feel so badly for you,” Sam said turning the car back on.

“They burned down my house! They ate my tailor.”

“Not our problem.”

“See, this is why I wanted your squirrelly brother. I was told that wasn’t possible. He’s much more reasonable.”

Sam snorted because Dean and reasonable were currently occupying different ends of the galaxy right now.

“Worked with demons, got hosed, not doing it again.”

“Be sensible,” the demon complained. “I had a very angry angel who I thought was pagan up to a few hours ago with a nasty sword threatening me along with every demon in creation looking for me. I have more to lose here than you.”

“Outside of getting Lucifer’s unending mercy if you deliver me on a silver platter,” Sam said reaching over to turn the phone off before he heard the demon laugh.

“Bloody hell, no. He hates us. You know that, I know that, everyone except my thickheaded former colleagues knows that. I want him gone so I can go back to what I was doing and we can all be merry enemies like before.”

“Wait a sec,” Sam said hitting the mute button before turning to the angel next to him. “Please tell me you are not seriously considering this.”

“Sam,” Cas started and Sam knew that the answer was a resounding yes. “We are trying to keep Lucifer ignorant of certain things. Looking like we are forming our own force and taking him down will enhance that image greatly.”

“Demon, Cas.”

“I will end him if he steps out of line.” There was true power under that voice, something old and pretty pissed at the idea of a demon even being there.

Sam sighed again and unmuted the phone.

“We have your word you don’t try anything and we don’t kill you during this.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Tell him, Cas,” he said, since he was fairly certain angel GPS was working better than his half hazard guesses at where they were. Which it was when the angel gave the demon exact directions to the Impala.

A moment later Crowley was in the back seat, the smug bastard looking actually worse for wear with a tear in his suit and slightly dirty. Cas was beside him in a blink, blade drawn at the demon's neck who flinched more than Sam was expecting. Maybe he was running, maybe he was telling the truth. Or maybe it was a long con because they did that too.

“Love you too, wings,” Crowley got out as the point of the sword hit against his Adam’s apple. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes,” Cas said.

“Before we go there’s one thing you should know. The other reason I wanted your brother to go get this reluctant informant.”

“And that is?” Sam asked, turning as he knew there was always something more. Something that always made these things so much worse was always lurking.

“Mind you, I’m telling you upfront as full disclosure.”

Cas just let out a low sound and Crowley swallowed.

“Look, the particular one we’re after is the handler but I’ve heard you know him. Names Brady.”

“No,” Sam said, not really forming other words because he knew that name. The name of the guy that introduced him to Jess at Stanford because he wouldn’t forget that. The one who slid off the good path and got into drugs and he hit his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. That son-of-a-bitch had played him, Lucifer had been stringing him along with his entire life even when he never knew about devils and angels and all of that crap.

“Sam,” he heard Cas saying and he shook his head not wanting to hear. “We need the information. Then afterward he will be expendable. You do know the word expendable, demon?”

Sam turned around in time to see Cas closer, eyes glowing and genuine fear in the demons face and smiled something unpleasant. There was a point to that. He had a family to make sure the bastard suffered if anything went wrong.

“Lovely word, that,” Crowley babbled looking at them. “Can’t say it’s my favorite or even in my top five hundred but am acquainted with it.”

“Good,” Cas said drawing back a little and Sam looked at them in the review mirror.

“If anything happens, Crowley, just know that whatever Cas does to you, our brothers will magnify by one hundred.”

He enjoyed the complete terror across that face as he pulled back out onto the highway.

* * *

“This is a terrible plan,” Dean complained as he and Bobby sat on the porch drinking beer. To his dismay, he had found alcohol had zero effect on him now that he had re-found his grace. Or bonded with it. Or whatever the hell Gabriel had done after giving his insides a good feel.

“Whelp, it’s the one we got unless you want to go all might and muscle and deal with that fallout,” the old man said leaning against the porch railing. “Would rather not want heaven and hell to have any more impact on the earth than what we got going on now. Want to trade in that, too.”

The old man paused for a moment, looking at him. “If you’re here, that brother of yours up there ought to know you aren’t there. Why is he so hot to trot to get your body?”

“Appearances.” Dean shrugged. “Luci’s out and about, heaven knows I would need something to wear. Doubt dear old Raphi told them anything, especially since Cas didn’t know I was missing from the heavenly reaches.”

“Any afterlife place to go that’s not messed up?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked, enjoying the constipated look he got back. “Heaven’s still probably the best bet. No monsters running around unless your life’s best hits include ‘em.”

“I guess, as long as nothing is snacking on me.”

Dean smiled around the mouth of the bottle before taking another sip. At least it was familiar unlike the jangled mess inside him. Yeah, he had wings and a whole host of other powers but it wasn’t quite him and him at the same time. Two lives all meshed up and sown together and it didn’t feel good, like some sort of deep itch that he was never going to be able to scratch. Especially after Death.

“Boy, what’s eating you?” Bobby finally asked and Dean raised an eyebrow. “Outside of your identity crisis over there.”

“Like that’s not enough. Surprised you even want to sit near me.”

“Still, Dean,” the old man said and Dean looked over seeing those eyes on him. “Still the snot-nosed kid that wiped his face on shirt sleeves and hid dirty magazines that he’d forget under the mattress for me to find.”

“Try not to spread it around, got an image.” A huff, something like a laugh, and he smiled a bit at that. “I mean that -” he didn’t even know how to finish and waved his hand listless getting a head shake.

“Son, I’ve known you’ve been crazy six ways to Sunday for years now. Your life hasn’t helped you out a lot on that. Figured that doesn’t mean you should have to be alone or not with family.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“Besides, if you do snap and kill me I know you won’t mean it.” Dean just stared at the old man who shrugged and took another swig of his beer. “Can’t help to think what you’re carrying around now. Already had too much as it was, now you got eons more. With your brother running around pulling that crap he did –“

“Bobby, I am so sorry,” he got out but the old man shook his head at him, attention fully on him now.

“Don’t you be sorry boy, ya hear me. Wasn’t your fault that stunt he pulled. At least knowing what was going on, what to expect… Can’t say putting her back in the ground a second time was easier or better or any of that nonsense but at least we were aware of his little mind screw.”

Dean couldn’t look anymore, staring out over the salvage yard, the cars dimly lit in the security lights. They were safe here for the time being. He and Gabriel had seen to that what with his whole head full of new knowledge and languages that he was still trying to pry into place with that human life he had. That terrible haunting knowledge that they had to stay ahead of Lucifer because his brother would rip his soul apart in glee to make him into what was left and Dean was fairly certain there wouldn’t be a lot except a killing machine at that point.

A soft sound and Gabriel was at the bottom of the steps. Bobby was lifting himself up off the porch and Dean wanted to protest that he didn’t have to leave but it died on his lips at that face that looked down at him. That face that didn’t hate him and still wanted him around.

“Talk to someone, you idjit,” the old man muttered before going inside.

Gabriel had an amused look on his face at that before it slid into something complicated. That same look he had been getting since he blurted out what Death had told him like a stupid human and not some all-powerful archangel who once held the world in his hand. Gabriel had been acting strange and weird and it was really hard to take. He was still angry but it was hard to hold onto it when he got that weirdness that Sam had when he didn’t know what to do but wanted to do something.

It was odd to think how much earth had rubbed off on his little brother after all this time.

“So, no random sprees into semi madness I take it,” Gabe was saying coming a little closer.

“Nope, not yet. The night’s still young, though.”

A sigh and his brother sat down beside him as they looked out over the yard. Dean decided one of the things he missed the most about being fully human was sleep. Sure, he had nightmares and had to drink himself stupid sometimes but it killed those hours where it was just waiting. Being all angel made a difference in that, it really did. Time wasn’t really important to them unlike now, where it was a crawl like his soul was personally counting off all the seconds and it made him twitchy.

To his surprise, a hand was on his shoulder.

“Didn’t peg you for being all touchy-feely,” he complained, catching his brother before he could rethink it.

“Forgot Dean Winchester was too macho.”

“Not all, Dean,” he said quietly and Gabriel shook his head.

“You’re both, you couldn’t be one without the other anymore.”

Dean stretched out some of his wings and draped them over his brother, feeling Gabriel lean into him. He wanted to point out he was still pissed, he was still hurt and it felt like part of him would be that wide yawning wound. Just like with Sammy but that one was slowly getting better. Maybe this would, too, though they couldn’t go back. Not to how they were when it had been good and heaven young and he had held Gabriel close and told him he was perfect.

“I didn’t know it was you that they had,” Gabriel said, his voice so soft that human ears wouldn’t have caught the words.

“I dislike when you are so serious,” he replied, hoping to stop this conversation.

“I would have come,” his brother went on and Dean mentally begged him to shut up. “Even if I had to kill every demon in creation to get you out. Just for touching you.”

“Don’t.”

That dirty feeling was all through him again, of what he had done. The knife he had held, the empty hollow he had thought hell had thoughtfully carved out but probably just had that Alastair had burrowed into and widened until it consumed him enough he could be what was wanted.

_QUANSB DS I GE C ASCHA_

He was almost flying, the old commands echoing through him, when his brother caught him, probably the only one that could even given his current state. They were in the middle of the yard, as far as he had gotten and he wanted to not be here right now. To not be touched as Gabriel took his chin staring into his eyes.

“Let me be, Gabriel.”

“No.”

His breath, if he had needed it, was knocked out as he felt his little brother push a hand inside his flesh, through the covering of skin and muscle and bone. All the way where he himself dwelled and he sank to his knees at it, Gabriel allowing them the slow slide down. Michael panted, fingers digging into his brother’s shoulders tearing at the cloth and flesh. He had wanted to trust so badly, wanted to believe they would come back no matter how many times they left him bleeding, that he had left himself open.

“You stupid, stubborn ass,” his little brother breathed against his ear. “Let me help you.”

There was no pain, just the feeling of Gabriel, all Gabriel, unfolding delicately alongside his own abused form, weaving along the cracks and fractures, sealing and threading them together better. Allowing that dissonance to drift away to a low buzz as he felt more of himself, all that he was now, flow together a bit better.

“Gabriel,” Michael said, hands falling limp, the only thing keeping him up was his brother.

“Jesus, Mikey, you’re still bleeding. You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself, stop eating yourself alive.”

“You shouldn’t want to touch something like me.”

“You were a human soul in hell,” Gabriel told him and Dean shook his head because that was only the tip of the whole fucking iceberg of failure he had going on. “I sold my divinity and you ripped yours out, both of us trying to get away from our family’s pile of issues. I’m not exactly a shining example of purity.”

“Why'd you leave?”

Dean could feel the grief ripple through as Gabriel kept trying to coax him back together feeling like that antique doll he had seen one time at some house they and dad had squatted in. All fractured and glued back together over and over again by loving hands until something had made her not worth taking. Gabriel shifted carefully and Dean realized it was so he wouldn’t be able to see that face so well. As if his brother’s hand wasn’t currently fondling him and he got a small laugh at that image.

“I was terrified of what you were becoming. You wouldn’t let me see this. You were the one who told me I should stand up to you.”

“Saying it like that makes us both sound batshit,” Dean complained, trying not to dwell on the fact that Gabriel ever thought he would hurt him like that. Strike him down but a deep part of him that was still dark and twisted whispered that he might of then.

“Yeah, well, here we are because of your sage advice about yourself.”

“I feel like we should be killing something. It is the apocalypse.”

“Shut it, Mike. You always felt like we should be vanquishing something.” Before he could retort that he was a warrior he felt Gabriel’s grace grow brighter. “Just rest for once, Mikey, that’s all we can do for right now anyway.”

Dean nodded, knowing that they had to stay under heaven’s radar, out of Lucifer’s sight. For right now they had to play this game in the shadows before the real finale came.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

The phone was pressed tight against his ear as he stood back against the outer hotel room wall, watching Cas and Crowley a few feet away.

“Sammy?” came that familiar voice he hadn’t heard in over a week and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Gabriel.”

“You do know who you called, right?” Dean asked confused but probably working it out.

“Uh-huh.”

“Gotcha. So you’ve met our terrible backward ass plan here. Would just send you with Cas but that place is warded to hell and back against angels and he doesn’t got the mojo to break in.”

“Surprise you trust me,” Sam said, leaning a little more against the wall, keeping an eye on the demon that he was sure was attempting lip reading. “After my last let’s play with demons.”

“Trust you learned something from that. Cas doesn’t think you’re going to do anything stupid right now anyways. Well, more than normal.”

Sam let out a huff, knocking his heel against the cement. Crowley was pointing at his watch, tapping his foot in an over-exaggerated fashion and Sam rolled his eyes back. Not that the demon wasn’t right for once, they had to get moving here in a couple.

“Are you doing okay?” Since that was the only way he could phrase it.

“Better. Been working on making me more melded and less oozing mess.” A pause as Dean seemed to consider something. “You know, Sam, you can, uh, pray. You’re one of the ones that still pop on my radar.”

Just the strangely awkward way his brother said it like he was trying to give him the sex talk, made him smile a little even as it hammered the truth in a little more. “When you say things like that…”

His voice trailed off because he wasn’t sure how to say it without sounding like he was giving up on his brother. A soft sound like Dean was frustrated and trying not to show it.

“Still me, Sammy. Still, the guy who cleaned your skinned knees and watched you cry over your first girl crush. Who was that – some Home Ec teacher and you begged dad not to move us because you were certain she had the hots for you because of how she stirred your porridge or steamed your iron or something.”

“I hate you so much right now,” Sam muttered feeling his cheeks flush red. Crowley raised an eyebrow and looked more intrigued. “We got to go.”

“Meant what I said. If you get in trouble pray. Can’t hear much, but I can hear you.”

“’k talk to you on the other side.”

He fished the keys from his pants pocket, motioning for them to go out to the car, Crowley with an interested look that at least had glossed over the freaked-out stares he had been having. Probably an improvement even if Sam didn’t want him interested so much in him. It was quiet, which was typically the norm at two in the morning. He really wished they didn’t have to do this but if the handler for a horseman was situated in such a public position, well it wasn’t good news.

“See anything, Cas?” he asked as he pulled the car over about a block away, the ride has been mercifully silent.

“Nothing demonic present right at the moment,” Cas replied. “I cannot see inside the building.”

Sam nodded getting himself out and around back to the trunk. It was the best intel he was going to get because apparently even Gabriel couldn’t just see through the wards without disturbing them. Meaning Lucifer had probably done them himself and that was all kinds of bad. He grabbed his bag, making sure his weapons were loaded and holy water within easy reach.

“If this is a trap –“

“I will fry. I got it. Let’s skip the broken record part and get this over with,” the demon said as Sam handed Cas the keys to the Impala.

“If something goes belly up take it and go.”

The demon was by his side as they crossed the street and he wanted to just stab it on principle. He had the knife instant kill and he tried not to be sickened by the thought that he may have to take out innocent hosts to get through this place. It loomed mostly dark in front of them, something about it giving a menacing air most empty office buildings didn’t have. Only the lobby was fully lit. Crowley pointed towards the side and they crept down, hidden in the bushes as one of the security guys on rounds came by. It was a quick blow, dragging him back into the bushes as Sam bound him in duct tape and took his keys, card, and radio.

“Leaving him alive gives us less time,” the demon observed which Sam only chose to answer with a glare. “Got it, as few causalities as possible. Come on, side entrance back here.”

At least Gabriel’s intel on this whole thing had been right though. Heavy-duty security door that had a card swipe but no needed keypad. It was also the only door where the camera swung around enough to give them time to get in without being seen. He watched the red light around the corner with a small mirror, heart-pounding as it paced past and then they were swiping the card and in, door with a slight whoosh behind them.

It was rather upscale, noticeable even in this side hallway as they walked a few steps and slipped into the stairwell. Sam was fairly certain the security office wasn’t far away and he wasn’t up to tempting fate.

“Anything?”

“Nothing nearby.”

A nod and they started climbing the stairs that looked to be for employees and not clients of the place. The paint was worn on the rails, flecking off in spots on the walls and he doubted a company this focused on an image would let their clients feel like they were in a back alley warehouse.

“This is where it gets problematic giant,” the demon said after a few flights and pointed at the next landing. “The office we need isn’t that far inside but there’s a demon in the hallway. Possibly more.”

“Brady?”

“Unless my demon senses are failing, still not around for right now. Have to pick up our bundle of joy later on in the evening’s program.”

The landing door had a small thin window and Sam peaked through it to see a grinning face on the other side. “Shit,” he muttered as he moved fast enough to not be caught in the face, Crowley grabbing him from behind.

There wasn’t much of a choice, the guy was about to scream his fucking lungs out and Sam struck the knife in, ending the demon's existence in a small light show. He tried not to think about it, that maybe the body was already dead anyway as he got the door open, Crowley dragging the demon through, keeping him so the wound was up and not dripping yet.

“Broom closet,” the demon said and Sam opened the door, Crowley stuffing the body in. “Come on, let’s take a look around and get the hell out.”

Everything was hardwoods and brass and screamed ‘invest with us’ when they got into the office, fortunate enough the frigging card worked. Sam felt uneasy as things rarely went this well and it had been a pretty textbook B&E so far minus the demon. So things were probably going to go to shit at some point.

“We need to just take the hard drive,” he said slipping his bag on the oversized desk, taking out a small box. “Surprised the asshole isn’t here.”

“Am a bit too,” the demon said appearing on edge as he was as he peeled back the carpet, shaking a spray can.

Sam worked the case open figuring the files were probably encrypted but if he could get it out of here he had two archangels and a genius drunk who could figure shit out. He got the first one free and looked for anything else, prying open the drawers quickly taking anything electronic including thumb drives. There was a brass bowl that looked like it had remnants of blood in it and he made himself not think about what that was for.

“All you boys had to do was ask. Would have been happy to share,” came a voice as the main lights flicked on. “Well, with you, Sam. We just couldn’t let you leave.”

It looked like a maintenance worker rushing towards them before hitting an invisible wall as he rebounded a bit, staggering back.

“This is why we lose. Kind of don’t blame the Morning Star if this is the best hell has to offer,” Crowley said with a sigh, staring at the poor shmuck stuck in the devil trap that was under the rug. “Ready, Moose?”

“Yeah.”

“Kind of need to take care of the stool pigeon.” The demon thumbed towards the thing in the trap which snarled and Sam hated that twist in his stomach. “The entire point of this was getting in and get out, not leave witnesses. This is a problem.”

“Damnit,” he muttered because the demon was right and he couldn’t just exercise it either since it would go yipping back to Lucifer.

He made if fast the body dropping soundlessly to the floor as they got back to the stairwell.

“It’s a war, there are causalities. If it wasn’t they’d call it dinner,” the demon said as they made their way down the stairs.

Sam didn’t bother to answer, didn’t make it any better but was relieved when Crowley shook his head and opened the first-floor door. A handy video screen was by their exit to help guards see a threat and when the camera swung the right way they were out, making their way past. That poor bastard they had jumped earlier still laying in the bushes.

It had been way too easy and he shouldn’t have been surprised when they were halfway down the block when he was thrown back, bag slipping from his shoulder as he hit against a parked car. This just wasn’t what problem he had really been expecting as he got his wind back staggering to his feet.

“Zachariah,” he growled out, the smarmy flesh blob of former middle-management that the angel was wearing smiled, showing teeth. He glanced down but the bag was gone, and he cursed under his breath.

“Can’t say I’m all that surprised by you running around in such mixed company. Tell me, do you screw him too?”

“Get away from me,” Sam said but the angel stepped closer. He took in Castiel being dragged by some goon, unconscious, but Crowley was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh but the fun is just getting started and you get the best role. Live bait.”

Zachariah grabbed him by the neck as everything he was screamed out for Dean and the world went dark.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

He had come back to himself, as the turn of phrase went, not long ago, unsurprised to see Sam with him in what appeared to be the beautiful room. It was still done from where they had held Dean captive on that terrible day, made to be splendor to a human. He thought that he understood now that the righteous man would never be comfortable in such a place.

Sam was calm, waiting patiently although he had taken a look around for escape routes to find that none still existed. Castiel shared his state, knowing without a doubt that help would arrive for them, that Dean alone wouldn't just leave Sam in the hands of their unpredictable brothers. His eyes fell to the painting of Michael slaying evil that hung up on the wall and he smiled a bit, wondering what his friend would say of it now. 

A part of him still mourned that he was not what he once was and had not been able to protect Sam as he should have been. Though he had a strange sense of pride that Zachariah personally sent four of his brothers to take him down, as though he was still just as dangerous as he had been.

“Where exactly is this place anyway?” Sam asked picking up one of the burgers from the platter on the table and making a face. It was perfect in this space, neither aging nor even cooling from the proper temperature.

“Van Nuys, California. It is the Beautiful Room, where we kept your brother.”

“They thought Dean would go for this?” Sam laughed, something surprisingly relaxed even if there was worry in his face. “Wow, they would have done better with a honky-tonk bar, peanuts on the floor, and good, cheap whiskey.”

Castiel gave a nod as Zachariah made his presence known, coming to stand by Sam.

“Well, Sam,” the angel said leaning against the table as he watched Sam stare defiantly up at him. “Don’t suppose you just want to make this easier on us all and tell us where your brother is.”

“Fuck you.”

He tried to get up when he watched Sam vomit blood violently but felt Zachariah pin him against his chair. “Uh-uh, the only reason you’re still alive is an extra chip. A little, ah, flavor, to our dealings with Dean to make him come quieter. Now, Sam,” his brother said ripping the boy’s head up with Sam’s face twisted with pain and rage, “be good.”

Castiel admitted he was impressed when the boy just spat a bloody mouthful onto his brother’s face. Not that it got him far as he screamed when Zachariah’s anger flared and he twisted his hand, snapping something inside the boy.

“Shouldn’t expect manners from maggots like you,” Zachariah said, cleaning his face. “You see, you’re just making it harder. We already issued a bulletin for your brother through our, well, rather eclectic street scum since he managed to turn off his dreams. If he wants your worthless hide in one piece and not screaming he has to surrender. You and I both know he'll be here, handing himself over because he just can't live without his lesser half."

Sam managed a smile that was half deranged from the pain, his eyes barely able to keep from rolling back into his head. Castiel felt worthless, that he had failed them and he could not do a thing. Sword taken, strapped to a chair. At least he could credit his brother with learning from his last mistake. Just not anything else.

“He will end you,” Sam managed to get out, his teeth were stained with blood and Castiel worried that it would get worse. The Winchester’s were stubborn but Zachariah just laughed.

Heaven had always been foolish. Even before they had learned the truth he believed Dean would have killed this angel on principle with sheer will power alone if he had the weapon for it.

“That postulant boil on an ape’s behind you call a brother. Please. He’s a barely functional alcoholic with a suicide streak a mile long. News flash, worm, you were always going to lose.”

Sam was barely staying conscious, and Castiel fought against the binds on him, pushing at them with all he was to get to the boy, to at least distract his brother, if Zachariah could even be called that anymore, from his little game. To spare Sam a little because he still had some grace. He was able to endure a bit more than someone made of flesh and blood alone.

“What the –“ Zachariah said as the room shook, a long shudder as though the world had sighed under the ferocity of the hit.

“He’s coming,” Castiel said, raising his eyes pleased to see some uncertainty now.

“Who?”

“Your demise.” He felt a pleasant bloom of satisfaction at his brother’s uncertainty sliding straight into fear. “Have you lost your wings, Zachariah? I assure you it will be the least of your worries.”

Before his brother could get out another question Michael was there, throwing Zachariah in a clatter of old hamburgers and chairs across the room. His face was carefully composed but his eyes gave away the white, hot fury of galaxies that he knew his oldest brother was, would always be no matter his state.

“Sammy,” Michael said and he watched those hands heal that poor child, wipe away the blood as the restraints on him lifted. It was pleasing to see Michael more together than he had been, more in control.

“I’m okay,” Sam was saying, grabbing his brother’s arms. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, well kind of wish we didn’t have this douche nozzle to get us in the same room. Sorry about that, Sam. They had it all warded, took a bit.”

“Michael?”

“This works out though,” Michael said straightening as he walked towards the cowed figure of Zachariah who was trying to crawl into a corner. “I need intel, and you’re available. Funny how that works.”

“I don’t – I was told we needed to get you a vessel. What happened to you?”

“Nope, see you don’t get to ask the questions this time, Jabba,” Michael said his mouth twisting into a cruel smile even as Castiel saw the coldness fill those eyes. “Time to squeal like the piggy you are.”

With a breath, Michael’s wings opened and they were moving to somewhere far better than that accursed room.

* * *

“What the hell are you?”

Dean rolled his head, trying not to just reach in and rip the grace out of the asshole bound in front of him in this old concrete warehouse. The need for answers was a far more pressing issue right now. Lucifer had a time bomb on earth somewhere, and not defusing that, even with Morning Star captured, whatever his brother cooked up was going to be hard to stop.

Not to mention whatever weird shit was going down in heaven.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

“Looks like you went and mated with the mud monkeys, Michael.” Zachariah smiled, something predatory but Dean could sense the fear in his supposed brother. “Did you get all up with one of the flannel-clad nightmares? Tell me, was it good?”

Dean approved when Gabriel just punched the bastard in the face to shut him up, the chair they had him restrained in rocking back violently into the wall before tipping back forward.

“Keep at it, going to make your death more painful and, gotta say, not going to cry a tear for you,” Dean said. “Think you’d wanna make it go a bit easier.”

“And why would I want to listen to something that looks like Michael but isn’t?”

Dean stretched out his hand, feeling Zachariah’s grace and curled his fingers, making the angel scream in his true voice. The warding here held it in, the sounds harmlessly rebounding off the cement as the walls shook a little.

“Still Michael,” he said quietly, relishing in the panting angel in front of him. “Want to try again? Who sent you to pick up Sam?”

“Well, thought it was you, but obviously you’ve been too busy getting it up for the mudfish.”

Dean resisted the urge just to hurt him. “Who gave you the order?”

“Who do you think? You catch stupid from the humans now?”

“And what does my dear brother Raphael say these days?”

Zachariah just grinned at them and Dean ran a hand through his hair. Gabriel was losing the same amount of patience beside him, closing a fist around the angel’s throat.

“Look, you moldering sack of pompous shit,” his brother growled. “Neither of us has the patience, and Mike there is going to torch you alive over and over again until you just beg us to kill you.”

“We are following the plan, unlike you two,” Zach said, eyes big under the pressure of Gabriel’s hand. “What was set out for us to do.”

“Does Raphi say the orders come from me?”

“Yes or Father.”

Gabriel released the angel, who caught an unneeded breath. There was something unhinged in those eyes. Fear and pride all mixed up together into a sort of insanity he had seen before. That self-driven purpose that was so beyond certain that it was right while the rest of the universe was wrong.

There was no way this angel was leaving here alive and a part of him hated that.

“Heaven believes I’m up there?”

“What do you think?” Zach said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That whole lot would panic if you were missing. Gotta say, explains why Raphael is such an uptight prick though. Leaving him to do your work.”

Dean ignored the jab. Heaven would catch wind that the beautiful room had been breached and Raphael would know something big was up. If he had luck, his brother would think Lucifer, but he doubted he’d be that fortunate.

How the hell did Raphael think this would go down if he wasn’t there? Was his brother so far gone that he would watch the world burn and turn his back? Was there a deal with Lucifer?

This slimebag, he knew, couldn’t tell him that. Maybe he could, however, be useful in some other way.

“Where is Pestilence?”

Zachariah grinned again and Dean closed his hand, trying not to relish the screaming.

“Where is he?”

Again nothing and it was rinse and repeat, memories of a past long forgotten in him of doing this on heaven’s fields to brothers who had turned. Listening to them scream as they swore allegiance to Lucifer with their dying breaths, never understanding that Lucifer only cared for himself.

Gabriel was soundless and still beside him, watching. Dean wondered if he was remembering too, and of how he had wept for their dead little brothers. Of how he had told him that they were already lost, that it was a mercy, of how hollow all those words had been that couldn’t wash away the blood.

“Don’t know,” Zach finally got out.

“You aren’t really helpful.”

Dean was raising his hand again and was surprised when Zach added, “Coward.”

“You don’t know when to shut it, do you?”

“You abandoned us. Just like your little brothers, well except Raphael. At least he made sure everything didn’t go to shit.”

Dean just walked over and lifted him, chair and all, off the ground, staring into the madness of an angel.

“Truth hurts,” Zach snapped, before spitting in his face.

Dean didn’t flinch.

“He’ll bring the end times, wash this filth off the planet,” the angel continued, deranged and rambling now. Dean could feel the pain in him, the twists of his grace and he wondered what Raphael had done to make them all so compliant. Militant, the lot of them, so desperate for orders and control that they followed blindly off a cliff into madness.

“That’s paradise. To be rid of the monkeys that caused all of this.”

“They didn’t ask for it. Lucifer gave it to them.”

“He was right.”

Dean let the chair drop, it skittered, almost tipping before righting itself. A glance back told him Gabriel had kept it upright, his brother’s eyes hard now. 

“Flawed. Gotta say, super ironic you’re slumming it with them now. Crawling in the filth but it makes it easier. Wipes them out faster cause boys, you got no aces and that clock is ticking down. Tick tock, tick tock, tick –“

Gabriel silenced him, Dean feeling that old rage unfurling in him. That one of betrayal and hatred as he watched heaven desecrated and now this home. The one he had never asked to be on but was still his all the same. All those innocents going to work, and walking with their kids, eating ice cream and pizza and bitching about their TV shows never knowing and having no way to stop the end that was screaming up towards them.

 _GNAY GE PAAOX G NAPTA BIAH ASPT A BABALON OD IALPON T NALVAGE_ _GNAY GE DRIX GNAY GE ZACAM GNAY GE IAIAL_

“You harmed my brothers,” Michael intoned, watching Zachariah’s eyes show true fear. “You harmed me and creation. You have broken Father’s commandments, betrayed your station, and revoked your claim to existence.”

“Michael –“

Michael slammed his palm against the traitor's head, feeling the Seraph’s grace burn under his touch, his screams loud enough to shake the walls around him but it was no matter. Traitors of heaven must be punished.

“Mike,” Gabriel said, voice soft beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

A fleeting thought of Cas, his handprint under his brother's palm burned into his soul from carrying him into hell, a mark forever pressed and seared into his flesh to show his failings.

Dean blinked, came back to himself as he looked down, the burned-out body of some poor shmuck who had probably thought he was blessed to have an angel come to him.

“He was right.”

“Michael, you can’t listen to what that lobotomized bastard –“

“I left. I did this to myself and everything suffered for it.”

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, a first for his brother. How silent he had been was unnerving in and of itself. Gabe had always been movement, a flash of light across heaven, always in motion. Once, there had been a time where he was always laughing, playing with the choir, with Cas.

“Come on, can’t fix heaven right now. Let’s see if we have anything else to stop this massive stupidity.”

* * *

Sam still found himself sending glances back at the demon who was patiently waiting. Crowley had shown up like some miracle, stunned to see both him and Cas. And to his surprise, the demon had gone and stood in the trap, handed over the bag, while bragging about how he still had tricks up his sleeve.

And then had been quiet. Like no quips or anything, just stood there, looking out the window, as if waiting for his impending demise. Sam figured that he felt death from Gabriel would be better than being found by Lucifer. He didn’t blame the demon for that, but it unsettled him all the same.

After a couple of hours of trying he had given up breaking whatever was on those disks. Bobby was currently looking it over but Sam doubted the low-tech old man was getting anywhere himself.

“Any luck?” he asked Bobby.

“Too complex. Can’t make heads or tails of this. Gonna have to wait for those yahoos to get back to get a better feel for it.”

Crowley let out a long sigh and Sam resisted the urge to throw a book at him.

“Don’t suppose you could help here?” he demanded.

“Sorry, big boy. Those things can’t be undone by a demon. Probably made that way. Probably have protection against winged fiends too.”

“Great,” Sam said, rubbing his head. “Just great. All of that for nothing.”

“Calm yourself, son,” Bobby said. “We got everyone out of that fool headed plan, got what we went in for. Can’t give in now cause it got a little hard.”

“Sure. Yeah. Who do we pray to for a miracle?”

“Well, me, for starters,” said a familiar voice.

Sam looked over, seeing Gabriel and Dean. His brother, who he hadn’t seen since he had been dropped off, and he was already on his feet, trying not to run. Of course, Crowley had to ruin the moment.

“Holy hell,” the demon whispered, backing up against the far end of the circle with his eyes on Dean. “Mother of all evil.”

“Interesting,” his brother said, taking in the situation. “Good spot for you. Well, better would be dead, but this is good too.”

“You didn’t fill me in on this part, chuckles,” the demon said to Gabriel who just shrugged.

“Need to know.”

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said, and Sam turned his attention back to his brother who looked worn. Dean clasped a hand on his shoulder. “How ya holding up?”

“Could be better. Have the disks, can’t crack them. Some kind of enchantment on them. You?”

“The winged freak didn’t have anything to give up other than Raphael is rampaging.”

“What the hell was his plan?” Bobby asked. “He had to have known you were missing, even if heaven couldn’t buy a clue.”

Dean was silent and Sam felt his stomach bottomed out. Heaven had started this with no hope of winning but it wasn’t just that. They didn’t want to win. Just watch the world flame out. Something in his brother’s eyes, grief for just a moment, and Sam felt like he would fall into it. Bottomless and endless and even if he didn’t know Michael he knew Dean, he knew his brother would hold himself responsible for all of this.

He wanted to point out that Dean wasn’t the only one up there with free will but saw a small head shake from Gabriel.

“Let me take a look at that, Bobby,” Dean was saying, stepping away from him and towards the desk.

“So,” Gabriel said, walking around the circle. “I feel this bizarre urge to say something about what went down.”

Crowley fidgeted nervously, something unbecoming in a demon. “A glass of good Scotch and we’ll call it even.”

To Sam’s surprise, Gabriel summoned it and passed it over, Crowley looking immensely grateful. The archangel came over to stand beside him as they watched Dean and Bobby. His brother was concentrating, then telling Bobby to try something again, which apparently wasn’t working.

“Warded,” Dean said, not looking up. “Complicated, Lucifer’s handiwork.”

“Just like the building,” Sam said.

“Yep.”

Sam wanted to ask how his brother was doing but it felt like the wrong time for that.

“Zachariah?” he asked Gabriel, in a low voice.

“Dead.”

The way the archangel said it, flat, made Sam’s stomach fall further. He decided he didn’t want to know what happened to the smarmy bastard. Gabriel had summoned up something to eat, and his stomach grumbled, reminding him that he was one of the humans here. The archangel glanced at him, handed over the candy bar before making another one.

At least it tasted real. Sam made a mental note to ask later how they did that. Well, if there was a way to explain it without having his head explode.

“Got it,” Bobby said. Sam smiled at the old man’s excitement. “Know why Satan was all hot to do a hell encryption on this thing.”

“Is it –“

“Everything,” Dean answered grimly, taking over and flipping through whatever he saw on the screen. “Hot damn. Looks like we won't have to be digging around for that handler after all.”

Sam could feel the entire room waiting for his brother to fill them in and he could see the look on Dean’s face. The one that said he was scheming. Dean always had that look when he was about to propose some batshit insane plan that shouldn’t work but did and he smiled a little.

“Demon,” Dean started before being interrupted.

“It’s Crowley.”

His brother rolled his eyes as he looked at them.

“Crowley,” Dean said, voice lathered up with sarcasm. “You’re in this deep. Like you’ve dug so deep you missed China and shot out into the solar system.”

“Thanks for the update. You’re point?”

“My point is that since you’re in this shit above your eyeballs I’m willing to accept you’ll keep helping without backstabbing.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.”

Dean clapped his hands together and looked determined. Sam hadn’t seen him look that revved up in a long ass time.

“Then do I got a plan for you.”


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Even with his failing state, he was still unaccustomed to human transportation. He felt Gabriel would agree with him, the archangel beside him after claiming motion sickness and the need to sit by the window. Bobby had said little, not that Castiel was worried about that. The silence was pleasant, not oppressive even if Gabriel was slouched against the door. Castiel glanced over at him, and he wondered if his brother did get car sick.

Gabriel scowled at him and Castiel knew his thoughts were being heard. Dean had told him he thought loudly. Perhaps humans, or creatures close to it, could not help it, given his experience with Dean.

They were close. It was hard to feel the locations of the earth now, but he knew enough to know it was less than a mile.

“Hey, big wings,” Bobby said.

“What?” Gabriel grunted, still slouched and otherwise not moving.

“That boy is he –“ the man trailed off. Castiel sensed he was afraid to ask.

He had wanted to know himself, but the answer would not change much. There was little he could do to help his friend and brother outside of doing what was asked.

“Scotched taped together but holding,” Gabriel finally answered as Bobby pulled the truck over to the curb.

They climbed out and he knew Gabriel was stretching more than just his human body. Angels did not like being confined and his thoughts fell to Lucifer. The ultimate punishment for an angel who disobeyed cut off from creation and trapped. Why Father had just not killed him all that time ago he did not understand.

“The ultimate question, Cassie,” Gabriel said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s get this suicide roll going.”

Bobby laughed and opened up the back. He and Castiel took out the bags, the weight was less for him than it was for Bobby. Gabriel was gazing at the building, he knew his brother could see far past the walls.

“Wards, nothing that can keep me out,” Gabriel said, and Castiel picked up the note of pride in his voice.

He had not forgotten the archangel’s argument with Michael that he should just go do these things alone. Castiel had understood Dean’s reasoning, to keep heaven and Lucifer in the dark as long as possible while their plan was finalized. To make them think it was this little band of humans and a demon so that suspicion was not focused onto a living Michael, that Lucifer would lay plans to undo the former and not archangels.

If Lucifer came now, if they fought, everything they were working towards would be lost.

“Earth to Cassie,” Gabriel was saying, shaking him slightly. There was concern on his brother’s face. “Hey, you gonna zone or go set bombs?”

“I am alright.”

Bobby rolled his eyes at him.

“I am overcome with reassurance,” Gabriel said. “Gonna take out the mooks inside. Ready?”

Castiel gave a nod and realized as he had mused that Bobby had cut a small hole in the security fence. They slipped through and he marveled at how his brother refrained from using his grace. He felt it would be near impossible to keep Gabriel from that, but here they were, the archangel so hidden that he would look human to almost all who saw them. Just two humans and a falling angel.

“Always liked the smell of domestic terrorism in the morning,” Bobby muttered. “You do know how to use that right?” the man said, motioning to the gun he held.

Castiel felt it was at least the hundred and fiftieth time he had been asked this question.

“Yes.”

He knew he would field this question again at some time in the future given his falling state, even though they all had witnessed Michael teaching him everything he needed to know. It was Dean's own personal weapon, after all. 

They separated and Castiel went to his designated area. There was a feeling doing this as he removed a bomb to place on the building that he could not pinpoint. A feeling of purpose, that sense of duty that had so long ago abandoned him was building up again.

He sensed the demon before it turned the corner, and he hit him in the head with his weapon, watching the form crumple slightly. Summoning the strength he had, he slammed the things head against the concrete wall, watching it fall lifeless to the ground.

He may no longer be able to purify on command, but he was not helpless.

Finishing the first, he picked up the bag and was moving to the second location when two men came running around the corner. A distant shot and he knew Bobby had encountered the same problem. These, however, were not demons but humans and he felt a small thread of regret as he raised his weapon. The virus had been activated inside the building, he knew it now as he shot, dropping them, their dying faces twisted up in rage with empty eyes.

He knelt, listening as he could not sense Gabriel. His hearing was still better than a human’s and he could hear muffled sounds from inside. Whatever Gabriel had encountered in there was more than likely a nightmare of infected innocents.

It was done, the second charge placed, the small light his only indication that he had done so properly. His senses were no longer good enough to see if he had beyond that and he took his bag, walking back to the truck, relieved to see Bobby and Gabriel as he turned the corner.

“Well, that was a shit show,” Gabriel was saying as he joined them.

“You’re telling me,” Bobby said.

They went through the fence then all his muscles refused to move. Nothing responded as he felt it, all around them.

“Fuck,” Gabriel whispered as Lucifer appeared in front of them, the truck only a few feet away.

“Well, well, isn’t this interesting,” Lucifer said, taking them in, tapping his finger on his chin. “You know, I had this inkling to come to have a look-see at how my things were doing, and what do I find?”

Castiel could not even swallow, a reflex he had become more aware of as Lucifer looked them over. He could feel Gabriel now, struggling. It took a moment to realize his brother was not trying to enter combat but to send him and Bobby away. Gabriel himself may find a way to leave, even under Lucifer’s thrall, but he and Bobby were caught. His brother, while huge and powerful, could not counter the devil like this.

Lucifer laughed his attention on Bobby.

“No need for you. Say goodbye.”

A snap, Castiel would wince if he could but there was nothing. Lucifer attempted again before his face twisted up into anger.

“You really are scraping the bottom of the barrel, Gabriel.”

“And you’re an asshole, Luci,” his brother said calmly.

Not that calm tones worked well here with those words, as Lucifer’s face twisted more. Castiel could barely see his fallen brother but it was enough to know how twisted he was, how far away he was from the Morning Star.

 _Dean,_ he prayed, not knowing why he went to that name. _Dean, it is Lucifer._

Then, Lucifer smiled.

“Why don’t you all come with me? What do you say, Gabriel? I can have some fun with your little friends.”

Castiel understood then, knew what Lucifer would do and he wished he had some control. He would kill both himself and Bobby instantly to spare Gabriel that.

“You know what, Luci, you can go play with yourself. Probably good at it by now. Lots of time to practice.”

He could feel Gabriel struggling harder and he prepared himself to run if there was an opening, to take Singer and fly. As much as he had no wish to leave his brother, he knew it would be worse for him if they stayed as victims.

“Such a mouth on you. Is that any way to speak to your brother?”

“I thought you were my brother,” Gabriel said, his voice so low that it was near whisper. “I used to think that I loved you once.”

It was then that Castiel realized his brother had been able to summon his blade in his struggle against the suffocating pressure of Lucifer.

“Really, Gabriel. What do you plan to do? You renounce me, on the street of all things, and then what?”

Lucifer’s tone was still playful but Castiel could hear the rage building underneath of it. They were seconds away from death, he knew this, could feel the air changing around them. The forces of nature bending to the power of a fallen archangel.

“Why Dad didn’t sit your ass in time out before you went stomping around, I’ll never know. You’re just like you always were. Spoiled and a prick.”

“Careful, little brother.”

“Or what?” Gabriel let out a laugh. “You’ll torture me more slowly? Awesome. Sign me up. You want playtime with me, Luci, let’s have at it.”

“You just want your little friends to go free? Is that it? Why should I do that when I can have all of you at once?”

“I won’t fight you if you let them go.”

“You disgust me, Gabriel.”

Castiel wanted to scream no at his brother. This was not right, one of the few left not corrupted was handing himself over. Dean had joked about praying harder to be heard before, and now he found himself trying to do that. Over and over again, not knowing if there was anything to be done.

“You slumming with cockroaches, brother?” Lucifer asked softly. “Let me help you see that they aren’t worth even the energy to step on them.”

“Do whatever you want.” Gabriel still hadn’t flinched, back to looking for a way to get them out. “The fact is, you’re jealous. You were the apple of Daddy’s eye and then bam, new baby. Couldn’t handle it, huh? All pissy that someone else got attention for once.”

“Gabriel –“

“You talk about humans being scum and you know what? It’s you. They’re better than you. Always have been –“

Lucifer took a step forward, and Castiel felt Gabriel’s grace diminish greatly, Lucifer expanding himself more.

“Everything’s better than your dumb ass, though, huh, Luci?”

The building behind them detonated earlier than expected, an explosion so large the earth shook under their feet, stopping Lucifer from lunging as his attention shifted for that brief second, his hold on them diminishing a fraction. Castiel felt swift hands collect him, Lucifer almost snatching him back and he threw himself as hard as he could towards Michael, cloaked as he was before he found himself back in Bobby’s house.

Sam and Crowley were staring at them, and Dean looking strangely close to sick.

“You alright?” Dean was asking him and Bobby.

“Yeah, son. Thanks. Needed a helping hand there.”

Dean nodded before grabbing Gabriel and disappearing, Sam looking devastated even as he opened his hand to show Pestilence’s ring.

* * *

“What the hell, Mike?”

Gabriel was already shoving himself away, stalking off as though he planned to just walk out of the forest they were in. Dean was pretty sure his brother would do that, just out of pure stubbornness.

“Gabriel –“

“I obviously healed you too well. Already had a brother trying to clip my wings today. Don’t need it from you, too.”

“Trying to get you to not runoff,” he answered, flying in front of Gabriel who just scowled. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“What? What was I thinking? I was thinking I was going to be torn up and if I was really, super-duper lucky, die at the end. That’s what I was thinking.”

“And what, praying was too hard of a plan to come up with?” Dean snapped. “I can’t hear a lot but I picked up on Bobby and Cas out there begging, but nothing from you. No ‘hey broken ass, come get me’.”

“It was Lucifer.”

As if that answered the question and Dean ran a hand through his hair.

“You already gambled that the warehouse would be the higher risk of him popping up. He’s going to know that you’re in play now,” Gabriel said, voice losing its anger for a second. “I was trying to piss him off to get him to focus on me, save the two mooks and –“

“And what?” Dean almost screamed it, birds abandoning their sanctuary around them. “What, knowing you’re being tortured for days on end, held hostage, carved into a bloody mess and being used as leverage was supposed to be a comfort?”

“I would think,” Gabriel said, voice gruff, “that you would have enough common sense to let me go.”

“Gabriel.”

His brother just shrugged, crossing his arms in that defiant way little brothers just seemed to have native to them, waiting to be freed. He still had problems seeing Gabe, his brother trying to keep enough of himself locked up and unreadable.

“Being a martyr doesn’t help,” Dean said softly, staring up at the mess of branches above them. Even the clean air here couldn’t help wash him of feeling Lucifer’s twisted grace even for that nanosecond. “Man, you know that. You think I’d just let it happen –“

“If you were smart, you would. Which obviously, you aren’t.”

“You were always a stubborn jackass, you know that?”

“Hey, well, some things are eternal.”

Gabriel’s posture still hadn’t changed, still waiting to be able to leave and Dean was done. So done and he grabbed his little brother, trying to see all of him, trying to read what he was so twisted up about. Gabriel fought but it was half-hearted. There was something in him surprised that more force wasn’t used.

“Leave me the hell alone, Mike. Don’t tell me you care now.”

“Is it easier to sacrifice yourself than to talk to me?”

Dean pressed their foreheads together, trying to feel his brother’s grace and something just went out of Gabe. His whole body slackened, going limp in his arms.

“If I vomited, I would have to feel him,” Gabriel whispered. “It was so twisted and wrong.”

“But that’s not all that’s bothering you.” 

To his surprise, Gabriel just gave out and Dean let them both slide to the ground his brother not looking at him. He knew what it was now, guilt. He pulled his brother into his arms, Gabriel limp as if all his strings had been cut.

“I remember what we did,” Gabriel whispered to him. “What we felt we had to do even though I thought ‘hey, we shouldn’t be this screwed up’. And then they took you, made you do that down there –“

“It’s okay,” Dean said, powerless because there was nothing he could do to change any of that.

Gabriel clawed at him, finger bruising his skin if he had still been human.

“Don’t you fucking say that. It wasn’t alright. I left and you – you – I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

It was devastating seeing this.

“Little brother,” Michael tried. “I would never leave you to die.”

In response, Gabriel just curled up more, his being pushing itself smaller and smaller. His brothers, weeping in his arms, showing him something that Morning Star never would and it was a wound far wider than he had thought inside him, something Michael wished was gone.

“Perhaps one day you will let me see what you’ve done to yourself.”

“You’ll kill me.”

“I give you my word, Gabriel, I will not raise a hand to you unless you become a threat.”

His brother lifted his head and Michael was taken aback that he had been fully weeping. He brushed the tears off, feeling helpless in how deep the pain must run because of their past for it to show like this.

“Beautiful, did I not tell you that you would always be perfect?”

He disliked that head shake and he laid Gabriel’s head on his shoulder, the sense his brother did not want to be seen and he would not force a revelation now. All the sins that lay on Gabriel, what he had done to the vessels alone but he could not hold onto his anger any longer feeling the loneliness that Gabriel forced himself to hide. The regret was all through his brother, palatable and he accepted this remorse. He heard the soft words in their language and he pulled that form that was too small in all ways against him tighter.

“Always. I will always forgive you. All you must do is ask.”

He freed more of himself from this body, enveloping his brother, sharing the agony of his leaving and smoothing away the fear that Gabriel trembled in until, at last, he felt his little brother relax and calm against him.

“Just pray, next time,” Dean whispered to him, hearing Gabriel laugh a little.

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age. Or at least part of you is.”

“Still a bit wonky and, hey, never claimed to be sane.”

Gabriel let out a huff, something close to amusement. “They’ll be worried if we don’t go back soon.”

“I know,” Dean said, burying his face against Gabriel, wanting to just stay here and damn any comments on his touchy-feely side. He didn’t care but he knew his brother was right, that soon he would have to open his wings and finalize this plan, to risk Sam.

* * *

Sam sighed when he saw the room. He must have fallen asleep on the sofa again. All the archangels in his life and he still got the I dream of Luci going on, even if they helped with being sleep deprived later.

He got it, he did. Appearances and all that but it didn’t mean he wasn’t petrified he wasn’t going screw something up.

“Hello, Sam.”

Sam nodded at him, leaning back in the chair, trying to settle in. At least Lucifer didn’t torture him. There had been threats, oh so many threats, and Sam had somehow, someway, convinced the devil making him hate him more would take longer. So, when Lucifer himself was able to come, it was just talking and normally it was easier to get Lucifer on a rant all night about humans or his stupid brothers or whatever else the fallen angel hated.

Which seemed to be just about everything except himself.

“I met some of your family, Sam,” Lucifer said, voice smooth and Sam tried to breathe. “Did you know that?”

Sam shrugged. It was best not to lie about that.

“I was surprised to see little Gabriel out there. It explains a bit.”

He didn’t know a safe answer here, so he waited, shifting in his chair. Lucifer was watching him intently. They were both trying for information after all.

“You took out one of my horsemen,” Lucifer said pleasantly. Sam winced.

“I – well –“

“I’m not angry. Well, a bit perturbed but bravo, Sam. With a demon at that.” Lucifer leaned forward in his chair. “How’d it feel?”

“Sickening,” Sam said. He never wanted to feel eight different diseases at once, prostrate on the floor while a demon bitched about having to do all the heavy lifting. Even if his archangel brother was lurking around in the shadows in case something went even worse.

“I’d image,” Lucifer replied and Sam knew there was no sympathy there. “I must say you are the determined one to go after something like that as a human.”

“Kind of wish I didn’t have to at all.”

“You don’t.”

Sam shrugged, not wanting to get back into this argument. Maybe if the devil was sharper he would have realized offering to pull the horsemen would have been a boon when negotiating world-ending contracts. He did kind of feel fortunate that Lucifer hadn’t, as it would have been far more tempting than these talks about world domination and human extermination.

“But your brother, he’s not around is he?”

Sam looked down, fingers curling around the arm of the chair, trying to anchor himself in. “A while back Zachariah found me.”

“Ah, a hostage negotiation,” Lucifer relaxed a bit. “You should have prayed. I would have come, no strings attached.”

Sam tried not to look skeptical at that declaration.

“I mean it, Sam. I dislike my things being touched and I doubt he was gentle,” the devil continued as Sam felt bile in the back of his throat. Even in dreamland, he could feel sick. “So you’re down yours but up my brothers.”

Lucifer fell silent as Sam was relieved the devil just assumed that instead of something else. They sat, quiet, which was a strange sensation. Usually, by this point, Lucifer would be rambling about whatever was pissing him off that day, and all he had to do was nod and smile at the right times. It was strange that the devil hated humans so much but shared so many characteristics of them.

Right now, he would welcome a five-hour rant about unreliable demons and why one shouldn’t have them as security. At least he could agree with some points, even if he woke up unrested all the same.

Then Lucifer stood. Sam was frozen as the devil walked over to him, thankful his head wasn’t an open Rolodex to angel mind reading in his dreams. Carefully, oh so very gently, Lucifer took his chin and turned his face up to look at him.

“Do you know who helped them?” The devil asked softly. Sam’s momentary confusion must have been evident. “At the warehouse?”

“I wasn’t there,” he stammered, feeling terror just flow through him. “I wasn’t there, Lucifer.”

Another moment, the devil staring at him, and he felt like he was going to melt into his seat. “I don’t like being lied to, Sam.”

“I know,” he whispered.

Then his chin was released and Lucifer was going to the window, to look out on the little slice of where ever created just for Sam torment. It felt like his heart was beating so hard that it alone should wake him up.

“Do you know where your brother is?”

“No,” Sam said. It wasn’t a lie since at this moment he had zero ideas where Dean was off prancing around at.

“I did not think heaven would take an interest in my doings,” Lucifer mused, not turning around. “Though, with Gabriel involved and his sickening lust for humanity, it isn’t surprising now.”

Sam tried not to choke. He was so tempted to ask if the devil knew Gabriel was in exile and just toying with him. He forced it down, and waited, not knowing what to say.

“Do you keep in contact with them much?”

“I’m the Boy King of Hell,” Sam pointed out and Lucifer actually laughed a little.

The devil turned, walking back over to him and Sam felt a hand in his hair. He trembled, he couldn’t fucking help it. The chill of Lucifer was strong now, flowing here and he tried not to tear himself away. To just sit and let Satan stroke his hair.

Oh God was his life messed up.

“You are. I’m not mad at you, Sam. I know you want to fight me, even if what you truly want is right in front of you.”

“I don’t want the world to end.”

“It won’t. Just humans.” Lucifer ran a thumb over his cheek. “I want you to come to me with an understanding that not only can they not be saved, but should not be saved. You and I, Sam, we’ll watch and let all the beauty of nature run wild.”

Sam swallowed, in his mind was pictures of cities littered with the dead, trees growing through them and he didn’t know if that was him or Lucifer putting them there.

“I will take good care of you, Sam.”

 _You keep saying that,_ Sam thought, wondering what the hell Lucifer wanted from him outside of a suit.

“Have you met any other of my little brothers?”

“Like who?” Sam asked, confused, feeling his brow wrinkling, trying to think if he had.

“Any of them.”

There was quiet, the devil waiting for an answer and one suddenly came to him. “Anael.”

“Ah, that one. I remember him. What did he want?”

“She went back in time to try to kill our parents,” Sam blurted out, realizing how dangerous this conversation had gotten.

Lucifer’s hand stilled, something angry in him now and the devil crouched by his chair, staring at him. Sam met his eyes, remembering that chase, remembering meeting mom, really mom, and losing her all over again.

“She hurt you,” Lucifer said, picking up on the pronoun.

Sam mentally warned himself to be careful, to watch the details because Lucifer was quick.

“She did.”

“Where is she?” Lucifer was now rage-filled and there was a little bit of himself that was flattered that someone would show up and mow down his killer for him. Even if his soul was being hauled off for torture afterward.

“Dead.”

Lucifer leaned forward, readjusting himself so he could lean on Sam’s armrest, hand under his chin. “Don’t tell me you kill angels now, Sam.”

“Nah, not me.”

“Dean?”

Sam shook his head.

“Gabriel?”

“No.”

“Sam,” Lucifer said, slightly exasperated. “Are you going to make me recite all your allies till I get it right?”

“Ah, it wasn’t an ally. Someone we were running from.”

“Michael?”

Sam tried to hid his surprise that Lucifer had jumped to that. “Yeah. Well, Dean told me. The Michael from our time, I guess. Took over dad while he was dying, cleaned it up.”

Well, according to his brother’s split personalities at that point, that had been what had happened, Sam thought, reciting the story like he was telling Cas all over again.

“And he didn’t take your brother, then?”

“No. We were confused by that too. Dean made a joke about it being impolite,” Sam adlibbed and was surprised when Lucifer laughed at that. “Didn’t make a lot of sense, since they were back to kidnapping and torture right after that.”

Lucifer stood, walking behind his chair and slide his hands down onto Sam’s shoulders. Trying not to wince, he knew the devil’s mouth was close to his ear. He could feel the chilled breath on his flesh.

“Michael was always Daddy’s little boy. Would see some things as beneath him.”

Sam nodded, thinking about how Dean seemed to be screwed over no matter what life he happened to be in. His thoughts momentarily drifted to John. At that moment, Sam wished he could punch their father in the face as the weight of everything that was in his brother hit him right then.

Thankfully, Lucifer took his distress as being towards Dean’s treatment and continued. “He’d use our siblings to get their hands dirty. I don’t know what they are doing to him, Sam. I know he hasn’t broken yet, Michael has yet to take his true vessel. But it won’t be long if they have him. Human souls are so,” Lucifer paused, slithering a hand down over his chest. “Fragile.”

Holding his breath, frantic that he was about to get a demonstration of just that, and then Lucifer slid his hand back.

“I don’t want them to hurt him,” Sam whispered, sticking to the truth and it was. “I don’t want them to touch him.”

“I can’t bring him back, Sam. When the time comes, when you come to me, I will help you tear apart all that did though.”

Sam wondered if Lucifer had felt that way about Michael ever.

Hands were in his hair again and he couldn’t relax under their touch. It was designed to be comforting, everything about Lucifer was cold and calculating and measured to achieve what he wanted. Sam stared ahead, trying to focus his thoughts, to keep his head straight under this.

“I know you are keeping some things from me, Sam.”

“Lucifer –“

“Ssh, it’s alright. You see us as enemies. I know a day will come when you know that is false. It is all of them that are our enemies. Our families would sell us out in a heartbeat. That it is they who would gladly murder us because we aren’t like them. We see the truth, Sam. I know you will come to me.”

The world shimmered and then he was waking up, Dean squatting on the floor next to him. He tried to focus, his brother putting a steadying hand on him.

“Sammy, it’s okay.”

“Were you watching?”

Dean shook his head. “Too risky. Don’t want him to sense someone, even if he thinks it’s Gabriel. What did that son of a bitch do?”

“Nothing. Just talked, wanted to know who helped. He doesn’t know, I don’t think, that it was you. Not yet.”

Sam could still feel those cold fingers on him, sinking into him like a longed-for caress while his brother looked him over, concerned.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

Dean nudged the label with his fingernail, the corner peeling back a little more. Damn, was it hard to just sit and wait while Gabriel and Cas were out risking their necks to get his latest suicidal plan in motion. Just sitting on his ass, waiting. At least being out in the yard he could feel the sun, though he missed how it had felt when he had only thought of himself as a human.

He sensed Sam before he heard the lug shuffling out towards him. The kid had to be worried, had to be sick with it and there wasn’t a lot he could do. He hated this plan with a vengeance but time was up and pretty soon both sides were going to be figuring out who the unknown on the field was. Best not to fight a two-front battle with earth sandwiched in-between.

“Hey, Sammy,” he said, glancing up as his brother sank himself into one of Bobby’s decrepit lawn chairs. The old man must have picked these up like half a century ago by the looks of them. “What’s up?”

A small shrug, and yep something big eating him. Skimming the surface of his brother’s mind all he got was a loud jumble of sounds. Cas was way easier to read, really straight forward on the thinking front. Must be the angel portion.

“You wanna talk or you just shuffling your gloom cloud out here, Eeyore?”

“Would you –“ Sam stopped, and Dean got the sense that he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer.

“Would I what? Wrestle in jello? Hell yeah, if the chick was hot enough.”

Sam let out a small huff and ran a hand through his hair. “How are you a pervy archangel?”

“Dad just made me that special,” Dean said, fluttering his eyelashes. “Come on, spill. Is it about tomorrow or something else?”

Sam had reached for a beer from the cooler, the thing almost swallowed up in those chops he called hands. The kid turned it around a few times and Dean was about to ask the princess if he needed help finding the top when he finally spoke. “Would you forgive Lucifer if he asked?”

Dean started. Not what he had been expecting by a long shot. “Don’t think that’s on the table, Sam.”

“No, I don’t mean he would,” Sam hastily said, shaking his head. “I mean, like, hypothetical.”

Frowning, Dean stared up at the sky, thinking. Morning Star. He could remember a lot of what Lucifer had done, good and bad, given that he had known him the longest. From the moment he was created wanting attention to those last terrible screams when he had been sealed in hell after his final abominable act against creation. When Dad had finally wised up, realized that Luci was never going to fix his shit, and ordered it done.

He’d never say it, never in a million years, but he thought he had to be the one to seal up and kill Lucifer because dear old Dad just couldn’t off that one.

Sam had started fumbling more with his beer and he got it, he really did. His brother was terrified that he didn’t forgive him because he didn’t know if he could forgive the devil. That Sam still saw the two of them as entwined and inseparable and always marching on a path to damnation.

“You aren’t him, Sammy,” he said quietly, the kid finally stilling. “The answer is, I don’t know. If he actually showed up, felt remorse, really understood what he did and why it was just so, well, fucking terrible, then maybe. That one, there’s a lot there, Sam. Shit, you don’t know and don’t get to know so don’t ask. But it would maybe be possible if he did.”

Sam nodded, relaxing a bit into his chair and Dean tried to think of something better to talk about then sins and forgiveness and all the crap they kept screwing up.

“So, let’s figure out how old I am in human terms,” he offered, grinning when Sam’s face went white.

“Dude, you’re – you’re older than the universe.”

“Well, but I was also a soul for a while, don’t know if that counts.”

“Huh.” Sam leaned back, pondering now. “Well, that was by far a shorter amount of time then you spent alive as an archangel. Which is still beyond weird by the way, just saying.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I think I’ll need like ten lifetimes for that.”

Dean snorted, watching Bobby walk out towards them. It was late afternoon and glorious out here, didn’t blame the old man coming to sit. Wasn’t much else to do while waiting.

“Well,” Sam continued, “humans existed in some form for about two hundred thousand years, right? At least the Homo Sapien part of this. And Satan didn’t do his big tantrum until we were more established. So it’s only thousands compared to trillions.”

Bobby had been reaching for a beer when he stopped, looking at them. “What you two knuckleheads blabbering about?”

“Trying to figure out how old Dean is.”

There was a long sigh before Bobby settled himself into his chair. “Your brother has like all the secrets of the universe locked up in there. Well, the parts of him that aren’t fried. And you two decide that this is the best thing to ask about instead of like how stars were formed, or how the bloody planet was?”

Dean smiled around the lip of his bottle as he took a drink. “Some things aren’t supposed to be shared.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam said, looking serious. “Like, no humans allowed club?”

“Nah, just more the mysteries of creation. Telling makes it seem less mysterious.”

There was pouting, he knew that without having to look over at Sam but Bobby seemed relieved.

“Kind of don’t want to know anyway, ta be honest. Like some parts of my human ignorance to a point.”

There was silence and he knew Sam was over there thinking really big important Sam thoughts. He tried really hard not to dip into that brain, remembering how annoying it was. Finally, his brother turned to him, his face serious and Dean knew it was going to be good.

“How about the day you were created?”

Dean nearly choked on his beer, which had to be an angelic first. He was getting good at those. “Well, Sam, when a man loves a woman –“

“Boy,” Bobby said, leaning forward interested. “You know what he means.”

Rubbing the bottle between his hands, he thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Not a lot to tell. I wasn’t there, then poof, I was.”

“That’s a terrible story,” Bobby said.

“That’s what it is. Sorry. No grand mysterious entrance with chorus girls and shooting stars. Just bam, alive.” Dean paused, thinking about how much he could say. “I was different.”

“I would gather,” the old man huffed. “Don’t think God programmed you to be a jackass.”

Rolling his eyes, he sighed inwardly. “I mean, I had like two settings, love and obey.” Dean paused again, staring at the ground, trying to find words to explain things that had happened before words were a thing. “I was kind of like the default, the test run, I think, to see if it was worthwhile.”

He didn’t have to read his brother’s mind to know Sam thought that was one of the worst things he ever heard just from that look.

“Why did He make you?” Sam asked softly.

“Dunno.” Dean shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. He could have told me at some point and it’s lost across the cosmos with the rest of my fried grace, or He just never shared, which could be a real thing. Just that I followed Him around like a drooling fangirl with zero ideas of anything outside of Him.”

Bobby snickered a bit. Glaring was not a useful threat to get the old coot to stop.

“Can you – can you talk about the other archangels? I mean is that allowed?”

It might be but he wasn’t sure. Wasn’t like Dad was around currently to slap him upside the head and he didn’t see the harm in sharing generalities.

“There is some stuff I am forbidden to talk about,” he started as Sam’s face fell. “But I think I can tell some of it.”

“Well, get crackin’ Shakespeare, not all of us are immortal.”

Again, glares did not seem to even come close to unhinging the old man and Dean was sure he had lost his archangel touch with his family.

“Well, obviously he should have stopped with me because I am perfect,” Dean started, not allowing himself to feel underwhelmed by his family’s laughter. “But Lucifer came next. And he wasn’t, it’s not like he is now, that big twisted mess. He was gorgeous. We didn’t have a good concept of what things were. There wasn’t creation or ideas like the sun,” Dean waved his hand all around them. “But even against everything else, Morning Star was probably one of the most beautiful things Dad ever formed.

“I think you could say we got more personalities as Dad went along. There’s not a good way to put it, but Lucifer seemed to come with more settings then I did, mainly that he found out what adoration was and wanted it all the time. Seriously, the guy was in a void with like two other things and it was like 24/7 ‘adore me, adore me’. Should have been an early red flag, that one.”

Taking a sip of the beer he could barely taste anymore, he rocked his chair back a little, pushing the heel of his boot into the dirt. Not like he needed balance, he had a good enough grip for that. For once, the two were quiet, waiting, and he was trying to figure out better ways to explain things without forms.

“So, next it was Raphael. He was always quieter but I liked that. As much as I loved and adored Lucifer, I enjoyed Raphael’s quiet peace.”

“Peaceful?” Sam asked, surprised.

“Yeah, before all that shit went down, Raphael was the peaceful one, almost serene. Like, when he moved it was fluid and always with, um, hell, I guess purpose. I don’t know. I’m trying to describe light in a void, guys.”

“You’re doing good, son.” Bobby’s tone was so gentle, like a sort of reverence that Dean didn’t feel he deserved but acknowledged all the same.

“And then came Gabriel. And he was, uh, wiggly.”

Sam’s laugh, so bright and clear, was the most joyous sound he heard out of his brother for a long ass time. He had forgotten what it sounded like and couldn’t help smiling.

“He was always wanting to see. I mean, there was like close to frigging nothing outside of us idiots to see, but he was always wanting to see it.”

“Let me guess, you were the stern one who oversaw the zoo,” Bobby said, looking at him and Dean nodded.

“There’s a boatload of crap I can’t say, but it wasn’t like we were all brought in to have daycare playtime. All of us could maim or kill one another and Dad got pissed when someone lost a few eyes or arms to a fight.”

“Eyes and arms?” Bobby asked softly and Dean winced.

“Scratch that. Just imagine me as a human with cool ass wings. Like bat wings on fire.”

“So, you bunch of mooks just sit on your asses while we do the heavy lifting,” Gabriel whined as he and Castiel appeared.

Relief flooded Dean at the sight of them. Instead, though, he just grinned and shrugged, pointing at himself. “Oldest.”

“So not a reason,” his brother returned, conjuring up two chairs before flopping himself into one. “Sit, Cassie. Why do the humans look like they’ve swallowed flies?”

“He was telling us about the day you were created,” Sam said, Gabriel opening and closing his mouth a few times. “He said you were wiggly.”

“You – you described me like that? I’m a fearsome, awesome, older than frickin’ time Warrior of the Lord and you described me like I’m some kind of earthworm stuck on hot pavement?”

Before he could say anything, Bobby said, “Well, it fits.”

“I feel like I’ve lost some kind of oomph here. Cassie, help me out.”

Glancing over at Sam as the bickering commenced, he saw a small, sad smile on the kids face as he played with his bottle. He didn’t need mindreading to know what was up and rocked forward, sliding his boot over to the Sasquatch feet by him.

“Still my baby brother, Sammy,” he said quietly. “Ain’t nothing going to change that.”

He was glad when some of the angst slide off his brother before he got involved with Gabriel’s petulant whining.

* * *

He’s terrified. Terrified out of his fucking skull to be standing here, waiting on the edge of what felt like very probable damnation. Nothing but dead grass and weeds and dry crumbly earth all around him. A barren nothingness that even the Impala parked nearby couldn’t take away. Like he was the last human on earth and it wouldn’t matter if he screamed yes up into the sky anymore.

“Lucifer,” he whispered into the stunning sky, immaculate and pure and just the opposite of him. “Lucifer, I’m done.”

“Oh, Sam,” came that voice and he turned, backing up a few steps. That face was showing wear and tear of the archangel still trapped up inside it. Burns and the look of a radiation victim and he swallowed at the sheer painful look of it. “I always knew you would call me.”

Sam didn’t trust his voice so he just nodded. He didn’t want to babble nonsense because the last thing he wanted was Lucifer upset. A hand reached out to touch his face. He willed himself to stay still. He needed to stay here just like this.

“I heard what heaven did. That Michael now fully has Dean.”

He nodded again because using words was beyond him right now, grateful that Dean’s deception had worked. He can feel the archangel all twisted up and wrong. Felt that heavy presence saturating the air around them and he wondered if Lucifer was proclaiming to heaven that he was moving in for his own kill. That he would deal with them once the earth was collapsed and barren under his heel.

“They are arrogant and blind,” the devil crooned at him, stroking his face like something longing to mimic love. “I can make them pay, Sam. Pull those little lackeys’ and pop them one by one,” Lucifer said, annunciating the last words with a tap of his fingers. “Unless you want to make them scream for mercy. I’ll give them as much as I got.”

A wicked grin and Sam stared at him, into those eyes that took him in as if already making measurements for future living space arrangements. Which was probably highly accurate.

“Alright,” he said, feeling the word crawl off his tongue, not wanting to say the wrong thing. Not wanting to say that word. Not yet.

“Don’t be afraid. You and I are the same, Sam. Always as we were meant to be.”

He felt a sudden rise of bile and he choked it back down trying not to look distressed, hoping that the illusion over him held and Lucifer couldn’t hear his current thoughts.

“ _What do I do? I mean, do I just stand there?”_

_“Stay alive, and for Creation’s sake, don’t say yes. Don’t say that word under any circumstance.”_

Gabriel’s words bounced in his mind as the devil tilted his head, suddenly curious and Sam stepped forward wanting to distract. He needed to distract.

“I want Zachariah to pay especially,” he said because it was true, and sticking to true statements was a good thing, even if it was a dead angel. “He hurt us, tortured us. Abused both of us and tried to make me die in front of Dean to get him to say it.”

“I dislike those who touch what is mine,” Lucifer answered, voice low, a wind passing over Sam as the dead grass rustled around them. “You were always meant to be mine. They had no right to you, especially Michael.”

That name and Sam stares at him wondering what the devil was thinking, the chill of that twisted blackness touching him was seeping further into him in some sort of bizarre form of torture and rapture. He wondered if he had been left at the edge of the Cage if this is what would have happened demon blood or no. If he was always meant to fall into it.

Fire was in front of him, Dean’s arm around his waist with the shocked outraged sound of Lucifer ringing out across everything. It wasn’t just a circle, it was a complex line of shapes carved into the ground, shining with something that he wasn’t sure but it was pure unlike everything in the thing that had been touching his face moments before.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed trying to get his bearings, Dean turning to face him but there was no anger there.

It was truly the first time he could fully see the archangel in those eyes.

“It’s what he did to you, Sammy,” his brother said softly, a sadness he didn’t think he had ever heard before. “It’s how he made you, trying to tangle you enough that you would respond to what he is now. Bobby,” his brother barked. “Take him.”

Strong hands-on his shoulders and he was marched away from it to stand by Gabriel and Cas who were on the outskirts of the strange markings. When he looked back he saw Dean, his eyes were almost silver and he knew Dean was all of himself, angel and human, as he turned his attention to Lucifer.

“Michael, what are you planning on doing here?” Lucifer was close to the fire line trapped as he was, eyeing what he could see until his face finally looked at his brother. Really looked. “What have you done to yourself?”

Sam couldn’t see Dean’s face as he walked towards that figure. Couldn’t see what his brother was feeling if it showed at all or if he had the blank angelic look that they all seemed to have carved into them. Dean’s hands hung at his sides, one in a fist that had the rings as a wind blew but could not touch what lay on the ground.

“I loved you once,” Dean said, his voice with that same sad stillness in it that ripped a little deeper. “Once I would have died for you.”

“Michael, what treachery are you up to? What have you done?” Lucifer demanded again his voice petulant but thick with some sort of fear. Something that wasn’t becoming to him.

“I remember many things, brother,” Dean said raising his fisted hand and looking down at the lock to the Cage. “The day you were made, the day we conquered evil with our baby brothers. The day the choir sang with the joy of its creation and the formation of all of this.”

“Michael, the history lesson isn’t needed.”

“I also remember,” Dean kept going staring into those flames as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “the day you stopped loving me. The day you struck me and tried to kill me and I was commanded to this. I remember the loss of Father, of Gabriel, of Raphael turning to hate and the choir looking at me as though your choice was my fault. But there is one thing I don’t remember.”

“Which is, Michael? Really if you want to guilt me to death at least try to be original.” Lucifer waved a hand at them and Sam flinched expecting something terrible but nothing happened. “Unless this is for the benefit of your audience.”

“The day I ripped myself apart over failing, especially you,” Dean said and Sam caught it. He caught the implication of those words, of how his brother ended up like this as that lock was placed on their side of the fire, just beyond Lucifer’s reach.

Everything felt weak, something giving a bit and he realized that Cas was by him, closer, a hand under his arm because that little angel was still strong. Falling or not he was still able to hold up his giant frame under that confession as Lucifer was still. So unmoving it was like a statue was caught there as Dean stepped back.

“You are an abomination, Michael,” Lucifer said and Sam wanted to point out that was probably not the best way to talk one’s way out of this. “You desecrated yourself when you had a chance to stand with me. Against what ended up hurting you and now you betray me all over again. Send me back to the dark.”

“I can’t kill you.”

Lucifer made a sound that sounded seriously close to deranged and crossed his arms. “And why not, dear brother? Hasn’t that been your entire life goal? What you’ve wanted, me out of the way of your precious obedience and devotion?”

Dean didn't answer, raising a hand, and Sam could finally see the side of his face something grim in that stoic expression enhanced by the angelic glow of his eyes. “Goodbye, brother.”

“Michael, don’t you do this,” Lucifer screamed at him as Dean raised a hand. “I swear if you send me back I will come for you and tear you apart. I will rip that mutation out of you.”

“That mutation is me. _BVTMON TABGES BABALON.”_

Sam watched with growing horror as Lucifer screamed in futile threats, the last being in a language he didn’t understand as Dean turned his back to the sight. Ground crumbling, consuming everything in its path as Lucifer desperately backed up to the other side of the ring. Thousands of sounds, the screams and scents of hell and he could hear Bobby whisper something beside him like ‘sweet mother Mary’. It didn’t stop, it yawned wider and wider offering no escape as hell was hungry and waiting. Sam caught Dean’s face, back still turned to his once beloved brother, eyes bright and he wished he could tell Dean he loved him. That this wasn’t his fault.

All he could do was watch the hole consume its prey, the anguish of the final screams that were beyond human before the ground was suddenly replaced, rings sitting as though they were nothing more than jewelry and the sudden silence was so loud Sam was sure he had gone deaf.

Then his brother had moved back to the rings, picking them up and staring at them, his eyes the normal Dean that he could see. Nothing glow-y or angel-y or anything. Just Dean looking at them calmly as if they had taken a wrong turn on the way to a picnic.

“Got to take care of these. Cas, Gabriel, make sure they're safe. And Cas, I’m glad man.”

Then he was gone and Sam was still not used to his brother just appropriating, thank you very much.

“What’s happened to Cas?” Bobby said, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder and Sam felt a bit more stable. In shock but stable.

“Cassie there is all juiced again.”

“Really?” Sam smiled because at least it was good news as the angel gave a short nod. He’d hug Cas but he was fairly certain physical contact was an alien concept and he didn’t want a confusion smiting to ruin their moment. “Do I, uh even want to know what Luci was screaming?”

“Oh, the normal pleasantries,” Gabriel said shrugging, a smirk that didn’t quite look genuine but he was calm. “Normal things like ‘my hate for you will keep me alive eternally’. That sort of hallmark message that uplifts the soul. Now then, sitting targets that we are,” and there was a snap the world spinning and Sam tried to breathe a bit as he knew where ever Gabriel was taking them it was better than where they had been.


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

It was simple enough to find him this time. Wasn’t like his recaptured baby brother had him on a leash at this point. Though it was a rather strange place, his form to the visible eyes a rather uptight old man that people, well at least the smart ones, kept clear on instinct. But here they were in some abandoned picnicking area by a small lake, rotting tourist facilities on the shore. The old coot was eating something that he was rather sure were pickle chips as he stared out across the water, still as pimp and pompous as ever.

“Michael,” a pause, “or do you prefer Dean?”

“Haven’t thought about it.” Which he hadn’t. Everyone just called him what they were used to already. “Either or.”

“Have a seat, Michael.” A hand was waved across the table, leisurely in its skeleton slenderness and he sat. While he didn’t have a great deal of time for pleasantries even he knew not to mouth off to Death. “I believe you have something of mine you want to give back.”

With a nod he pulled the ring out of his shirt pocket, dropping it into the outstretched palm. The fingers curled over it, something like a slight smile curved up on that sharp mouth.

“So if that’s all, got to be going.”

“Have a pickle chip, Dean,” Death said tilting the bag over and he breathed deeply.

 _Don’t argue,_ he told himself. _It doesn’t do any good to argue outside of dying and/or manners lectures, the latter of which was pretty close to dying._ At least they were good. Better than good. He was half tempted to ask where the horseman picked them up at but no reason to extend this longer than necessary.

“What are your plans, Michael?”

“Have to go stop a crazy Raphi from burning the world, then get heaven to not implode I guess,” he said running a hand through his hair uncertain of where this is going.

“You’re Raphael problem has been dealt with.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me, Dean. Don’t make me repeat myself. You know I dislike that,” Death said leaning forward against the table tapping a finger against the wood. Dean swallowed because he really didn’t want to start a fight and just nodded. “Not by me, mind you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” because he got what that meant. He wasn’t that thick no matter what any of his brothers’ liked to believe. “Does that mean –“

“No. So I ask again, Michael. If you do not bare the responsibilities of that, what are your plans?”

The thought that Father hadn’t come, hadn’t spoken to him was sharpness that grew stronger with each unneeded breath. He was still wrong, always would be wrong, even more so now as something splintered inside him.

“I don’t understand why you care,” came out instead of _‘I don’t know’_. The latter the much safer option and he mentally facepalmed.

A curved eyebrow was raised, something like ancient malice in those eyes, deep and unsettling as the being before him leaned forward a little more.

“I care because despite God deciding your soul should be Dean Winchester, you are still a ticking bomb. I would like to know if you are going to get a hold of yourself or if you plan on putting me partially out of business after a bad workday.”

Dean swallowed because, yeah, that was a possibility he was trying not to think about. That deep gnawing nothing inside of him that threatened to just consume him until nothing mattered. Not family, or heaven or earth or even revenge. Just the want to watch it burn. He didn’t have an answer and Death leaned back, sliding the half-eaten bag across the table.

“Figure it out, Dean. I would like to know which way this world is going to swing. I do dislike surprises.”

Death was rising, cane in hand, making his way back towards where Dean assumed was the main parking area. Or had been when this place was in use. Even without living things nearby the horseman still carried a strange gloom to it all, everything feeling weary and used up around him.

“Do you regret it?” he asked not sure if Death would know what he meant and the horseman stopped, looking back at him, hands resting idly on his gold-tipped cane. “Letting me live.”

“No.”

He was alone by the lake, the wind starting to pick up blowing ripples across the serene surface of the water.

That was that, then. Raphael was gone, heaven under control to some extent, the earth safe and he had no purpose. To return home as he was would only incite chaos in the Choir at his state. For his human family, he'd never be their Dean again - there would be no more hunts of monsters, long car rides in sullen silence after some little bickering match, or the simple day to day things like trying not to die, eating, sleeping. The coldness in him, the absolute part of him that saw evil still existing and yearned to purge that had grown quieter now whispered louder, that it could give him what he sought, and all he needed to do was obey, even as he tried to silence it.

For the first time since the mess of Lucifer's fall, he felt lost.

* * *

“I don’t understand,” Sam was saying again and Castiel disliked how lost the child looked. There was begging in those eyes that stared up at Gabriel beside him wanting to know why their brother was not here.

“Kiddo,” Gabriel sighed and crouched down in front of Sam and he was surprised at the compassion there. Something that had shifted in his brother from the cruel bitter creature he had been when he went by Loki. “Look, he needs time. I told him I would keep track of heaven and Cas will be hanging around on earth and be like my cabana boy.”

Sam rolled his eyes at that. Castiel had learned already not to question his brother’s turn of phrase. That usually just got a disgruntled look and a complaint that he had spent so long on earth and not picked up on anything. Sam was back to shaking his head again.

“You know how some people take spiritual journeys to like Mecca or in Mike’s case, probably a series of high-class strip clubs?” Gabriel asked and Castiel was at least grateful to see Sam smile slightly at that. “Our big brother just needs a little time now that he doesn’t have to be doing something. Okay?”

“Alright,” Sam said his voice still thick with uncertainty but Gabriel had pushed himself back up fully upright.

“Chin up, kiddo, got to go so they don’t kill each other up there.”

His brother was gone and this man, the one who he had once judged and allowed to wander down the dark path that he had been told was destiny stared up at him. Castiel was at a loss as to what to do. So much regret as to what he had done flowed through him, even with his grace restored, and he felt unworthy to be here after what he had done, what Sam still didn't know about.

He knew leaving, making himself invisible to watch over Sam would only induce more pain so he sat beside the man, summoning up what Dean would do. Gently he placed an arm around the man, comfort still quite foreign on this plane. 

"He doesn't think he has anywhere, does he?" 

There wasn't a good response since it was true and his silence was all the confirmation Sam needed as he began to break. Castiel could hear some thoughts, Sam blaming himself and he longed to say it wasn't Sam's fault, it was what Michael blamed himself for but he had learned enough to know it wouldn't be enough to stop what was coming. He let Sam lean into him, the child he had once called an abomination, the man who had figured out the truth because he could still see his brother and understood, and let him cry against his shoulder. 

* * *

Sammy was still having those nightmares of him dying. Over and over it seemed like every night the guy couldn’t get a break. Those fears that something like him would be ganked by a monster but he knew that’s just how nightmare’s worked. Something always threatened to be bigger and nastier to them when he was just human. A creature around the corner, hiding in wait to suck them dry and Sam worried because he still had a soul.

A finger swipe across that forehead and his brother ceased his restless movements, relaxing into a much better dream. Cas was there, that head tilt and a nod and he knew his little bro couldn’t see him but understood.

That dark need was still pushing against him as he opened his wings and flew. It was harder now as he couldn’t hear like he used to. The prayers of all those souls were like a faint whisper and he had to sniff them out, find the things that Sam feared that were out there and snuff them out.

Not that it took long, it never did. At least the thing was in its home country, not that it helped the about to be eaten child. Well, it was before he grabbed it by face, picking up the little girl who was even more terrified.

“Hide your face,” he told her in her tongue and she did, shaking. “I really hate your kind, Striga.”

Then he unleashed his power, no need for hunter tools and plots as the monster screamed and burned to cinder under his touch. The child was quivering in the sudden silence and darkness, fingers curled up in his shirt.

“Ssh, she’s gone.”

That little face all full of terror was looking at him, fully ready to be afraid of him, even more so. He rubbed her back, letting some of his grace soothe her. She began to fall asleep against him, a soft smile and he put her back to bed. The dark need was still in him, wanting to make it his problem, to purge all the wicked. It was not a great idea to hang around as each time he purged something Gabriel got close. That surge of his power, a flashpoint that his brother belatedly felt but came for. It was hilarious that it was now Gabriel seeking him to convince him to return home.

Yet there was something else here that needed attending to and Dean flew to the man asleep on the dirty bed in a nearby room, so doped up and drunk that he hadn’t even stirred when his daughter was screaming. That soul was black and he felt something old and ancient unfurl in him at its sight. Sammy had always worried, worried about his own soul and what he had done and while Lucifer’s disease was not beautiful it wasn’t this. It wasn’t so marred that it had ceased to care.

“Wake,” he commanded a hand outstretched, those eyes opening as the drugs wore off in a heartbeat under his power. The man skittered back, fear and desperation in his eyes as he searched under his pillow.

“Please I’ll get the money,” came the whine, the man’s hand slid under his pillow and Dean sighed he already knew what was coming. He reached out not thinking to allow this room to block all sound as the gun was pulled, the shot ringing against the walls.

“Not your bookie or your dealer,” Michael growled picking him up by his poor excuse of a shirt, its grime evident under his fingers. That faint whiff of fear and something else, the smell of lost control as the man’s bladder gave. “Not even human.”

He allowed himself to shadow the walls as his grace seeped out, the man’s heart at the point of dying of fear alone. He snarled at him, wanting to reach in and just rip this festered tainted thing. One of his brother’s experiments to show how wrong these creatures were. Just the smell of them was a stench that needed to be wiped from existence, this one balanced on the sharp edge of damnation without a contract to see it through.

“What – what –“

“What am I?” Michael asked and the man was limp now, at least understanding resistance was futile. That there was nothing and he put his hand in that disgusting hair, pulling the head back a breath before the neck snapped. “What do you think I am?”

“Angel.” It was a strange reverence that this human could still feel fear in his state. To still know what was sacred.

“Archangel,” Michael corrected, leaning his face close. “Your daughter almost died tonight. Tell me, would you have cared?”

“Melanie?” There was a panic, something that might be genuine the last true emotion this man felt and those eyes were trying to look in direction of her room in this squalid house. “Is she?”

“She would be better without you,” Michael whispered to him and the man’s eyes slipped closed his grace at a tight tension to deliver that last blow.

_Dean, I know you were here. Bobby woke me up with a call but man I know, I know and I love you. I miss you._

The tension released in him slightly at the sound of Sam’s voice in his grace, one of the few he could hear. That thing in front of him still caught in his grip was trembling, piss soaked and disgusting. The epitome of everything wrong with his brother’s touch.

_I just want you safe. I want you to know when you’re ready you can come home. We all would like to see you. You aren’t alone and I’m here when you want to. And it’s still weird as hell praying to my dumbass brother. Amen._

Dean loosened his grip, letting the man down on the bed who opened his eyes just slightly to see if he was still with this world. He loomed over this waste of space, mouth close to that face. “Do you want a second chance no matter the cost?”

“Yes,” and he knew what this man felt for that little girl was real.

“This will hurt more than anything you have ever felt.”

He didn’t wait for that fear or regret to settle in as he reached in and took that soul in his palm, that scream never reaching past these walls. He burned out the sin, the addiction that addled this wretch whose back was arched, his head was thrown back in a stiff pose that ensured it was fully felt.

Tears were running down those grimy cheeks as he released the soul, the man panting staring up at him as he waved his hand, at least solving the dirt issue for now.

“Take her and run. As far away from what you have done to yourself here. This is the only chance you will ever have.”

Gabriel would have attention here now he knew and as the man whispered a litany of thank you’s Dean pushed off. A thousand miles away his feet touched down on the edge of a cliff. Some stupid self-sacrificing part wanted to throw himself off instantly so he wouldn’t accidentally torch the world. Not that it would work and he was fairly sure that at some point he was going to stop seeing the difference between monsters, demons, and just sinful humans.

“Why am I still here?” he demanded of the air brisk in of the morning, the day breaking around him.

Of course, there was no answer and Dean tilted his head up, thinking of Gabriel looking down and he wanted to scream. Really scream as himself but it would crack the ground around him, terrify the souls nearby and he wasn’t that gone yet.

He shifted into flight, looking for the next evil that haunted humanity until he became it himself.


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Days were starting to blend together and Sam tried to push away the crushing feeling he had each morning that somewhere he had failed. He had failed to save Dean from hell, failed to stop Lucifer from rising and keeping the demons from hurting Dean again, and now, failed to bring Dean home.

Time was starting to feel like it stood still yet just rushed past, a few hours blurring into a few days until he blinked and it was another month and his mind felt just as numb. Bobby had told him to park himself, figure out what he wanted to do now with his brother not in the driver’s seat and it had been true. Dean had been the force behind hunting, the idea of saving people instead of just making vicious things bleed for all their sins. It had been the driving need behind his brother. John had always parroted the ideal, his brother had lived, breathed, and bled it.

It made Sam question just what Michael had been before. Did he have a wild side that stomped down evil while being able to console terrified children and bring his sick brother soup?

Thoughts like these were profoundly unhelpful when it was still a little dark outside and Sam got himself out of bed, dressing, though without Bobby here he felt the only reason he still bothered to get himself together was Cas. Not that the angel would care if he stayed in his boxers and T-shirt all day, but it felt lazy beside an eternal being even if Sam already felt like a burden.

He could smell coffee as he came down the stairs. Cas had picked up somehow how to work the thing once he sensed one of the humans awake. Sam liked to think it was because he and Bobby weren’t always the most communicative early on and made a beeline to the thing, being frustrated by it taking too long in their clouded minds.

Sam quietly congratulated himself that he hadn’t also become as reliant on a bottle as the old man.

Cas was staring out a window in the study, the lightening sky showing it was promising to be another stormy day. Bobby was out assisting two others in the field and Sam was waiting for the day when he got the notice that his profession was kaput because Dean went nuts and just wiped all monsters from existence. A part of him would miss it, part of him would want to know why no one did that in the first place or where the damn things even came from, to begin with.

Like, supposedly, a loving God decided to let these things run around with his most prized creation but then there was Lucifer, and Sam shoved the whole thing back in a box in his mind because all those questions only led him to confusion and resentment.

“Good morning, Sam.”

“Hey.”

Cas had turned a little, a slight nod towards him, and he considered, as he did every morning to ask about the angel’s insistence on wearing the same clothes and like every morning, decided against it. The only reason it stood out was that it simply wasn’t human. But decking the angel out in jogging shorts and a tank top wasn’t going to take any of that away.

He got to the kitchen, taking down a mug, the coffee smelling good and he was almost hungry.

Without turning, he knew that Cas had drifted into the kitchen after him, and either to check up on him or simply out of boredom. It had become implicit that Cas was mainly on earth for him even without so many words. The angel was rarely away from him and no more than a couple of hours at most. Why that was – if he was simply seen as helpless or if there was a real fear for his safety, or a mix of both – he had never asked and didn’t want to know. It was probably good that he wasn’t left to his own devices and he wouldn’t be surprised that after losing Dean in one of Gabriel’s tricks, albeit in a much more traumatizing way, Gabriel had taken his own lesson to heart and made sure there was a ‘keep Sam together’ factor on earth while Dean was being Dean.

They rarely talked about Dean.

“What?” Sam asked, finding Cas staring intently at him when he did finally turn, mug at his lips. The angel made good coffee, though that had been more trial and error – more than a few days of going between weak as water and so much that each cup seemed half full of grounds from overflow.

“You should eat.”

“Thanks.” He rolled his eyes, not wanting to sounds as harsh as he did. “Not really hungry.”

Cas was moving closer to him, eyes still on him and Sam knew what that expression was: concern.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Happens. Haven’t been real faithful on my routines, need to run more.” It was true, hard enough to get out of bed each morning let alone climb over the mountain of inertia to get him to put on his shoes at all.

“That is good since I would worry you would do harm to yourself.”

“Don’t need a nanny, Cas.” He did snap now, instantly regretting it as he saw the angel shift away slightly, eyes dropping a little. “Sorry, didn’t mean –“

There wasn’t a good thing to say because he didn’t want to talk about what was really bothering him and he just waved his hand, knowing Cas at least caught that movement. A lot of things he should be probably telling the angel and it wasn’t like he didn’t talk to Cas. He did. He had ended up telling Cas more about some things than he ever thought he would, not surprised to learn some of the stuff Cas had done himself, including the panic room door opening miracle, and had never been met with judgment. He’d felt better, went to sleep a little easier, not worried about Cas running off and gossiping with angel friends or Gabriel or anyone else.

Cas was safe to talk to, he knew this. Always gave Dean shit about not talking but at the end of the day, he just couldn’t find his footing because the only person he had remotely talked to for years wasn’t here.

“How’s heaven?” he asked as their silence stretched into a couple of minutes and he realized he was fidgeting beside the table unsure what to do with himself for the next little while.

“They are as well as they can be.”

Sam nodded, not sure if he should eat or go find a hunt or just go back to bed. Maybe it was being cooped up in the house so much. He had only done a handful of hunts, low-level stuff since being here and his biggest adventure each week was going grocery shopping, which the angel loved. Cas liked watching people, sniffing fruit, and asking strange, unnerving questions about products to the employees who probably inwardly groaned whenever they came in. It was the damn highlight of his week and wasn’t that just sad?

“There’s a breakfast special at the diner by the post office, some kind of fruit pancake combo deal.”

Cas’ face just lit up at that and Sam couldn’t help a small smile. The angel had figured out strawberries a couple of days ago – and why they couldn’t innately taste when in a vessel Sam didn’t know – and had been wanting to try more fruit. Not like either he or Bobby had a garden here as his habits had fallen back to childhood standbys and college fare, packages, cans, and rarely from scratch.

The gaze Cas was leveling at him was hopeful and Sam felt a little overwhelmed by it. He knew the angel was over there plotting the best course to get Sam and him there, with Sam eating the main portion, Cas getting the pancakes, and the two of them actually doing something they both wanted to do without maybe feeling guilty about the whole damn thing.

He shifted a little on his feet, putting his cup on the table.

“You wanna go?”

“I’d like that.”

Sam nodded, feeling uncomfortable still under that look, and just nodded again.

“I’ll get the keys.”

* * *

They sat in Singer’s study, Castiel studying Sam as the man was restless tonight. He knew Michael came less and less frequently to ease his nightmares hidden from their sight. Some mornings Sam told him in a quiet voice that he had dreamed of something in their childhood, the happiness they both got so little of.

Thunder broke overhead, Sam shivered as he looked out the window. Castiel already knew what the man was thinking, of Dean being out there in that storm. Sam knew that his brother was not human, would not be threatened by the lightning, feel the chill of the rain on him if he was. All the same, it was that worry, of Dean suffering and Sam wanting to comfort him to care for him. There was little to be done until Michael decided to return home.

“It’s been months, Cas,” Sam’s flat voice broke his reflection and he looked over, the hunter still looking out the window. “Months and months and I know he’s alive. I feel him even if it’s crazy but it’s like he just can’t come back.”

Castiel bit back the words that were the truth that Michael felt he couldn’t. They were already known and were raw wounds across all of them. Of what his brother was now so he tried to purge the wicked from the world without upsetting free will. Attempted to make it kinder and he knew the suffering Michael would see, how it would affect his soul.

He longed to tell him that heaven would welcome him back after hearing Father's voice after so long with the removal of Raphael but knew Gabriel was right. Michael was no more ready to accept that than he was that his human family still longed for him. The ramifications of Michael's condition meant that heaven was still a distant echo, faint whisperings lost in a sea of just earthly sounds, God's voice never reaching him.

This alone pained him in a way that he was unfamiliar with; had no words to even give it a voice.

Castiel reached out and laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder, the hunter tilting his head to look up at him.

“I just – I just want him to come home. He doesn’t have to stay I just -”

“I know,” the angel said simply because there was little else that could be said. “He can hear us, Sam.”

“I pray every day. Sometimes more. He’d probably tell me I have the worst prayers, all rambling and trying not to be angsty.” The hunter curled a fist against the side of his thigh, the book still balanced in his lap. “I try to make myself not beg him to come back. To just tell him what we do, that we’re alright. That he’s missed.”

Another sound of thunder that made the windows rattle slightly, the storm directly overhead now. Castiel tilted his head up, allowed his senses to flow outwards even though he already knew it was natural. That it was not caused by the grief of an angel.

“All we can do is love him,” the angel told him and Sam nodded. More than likely thinking of his nightmares where Michael was broken and dying and Sam unable to save him. Watching his brother slip heartbroken and alone from this world forever. He had never been a great comforter, Dean had told him that once but it was his nature to want to help this human. He carefully squeezed the shoulder. Sam looked up more at him and smiled, his body less tense.

“Being here is probably really boring for you.”

“It is not,” Castiel intoned as the storm unleashed itself over them, rain beginning to come in droves now. He had learned of some human experiences when he was falling, those of restlessness and regret among them. “I do not feel I would ever be bored with this world if I knew such a thing.”

Sam let out a laugh, and Castiel released his shoulder. The man turned back to his book and there was a strange feeling of safety. Of being inside against the elements that raged outside, among people who cared for him.

Castiel turned his face back towards the windows offering his own prayer to his brother, that he was always welcomed when he was ready.

* * *

It was harder to drown out the incessant hum in him, the one that drove him forward to wipe out all things that marred creation and he worried more about even seeing Sam from the shadows. The kid couldn’t help what was done to him but that didn’t mean that Dean couldn’t smell it on him all the same. So, he tried to occupy himself more, focusing on demons that still lurked, feeling emboldened by Gabriel pulling most of the angels back to heaven and the dislike of a former cross-roads demon being their boss.

Dean always had to smile a little at Crowley’s brazen act. The little upstart, after the re-caging of Satan, he apparently had deals in place to secure the crown. There was always a downside to having the keys and the good seat, and Dean was waiting for the reality of the strain to crash down on the demon’s head when he caught the scent of something different. Faint, unusual, something not human but wanting to be, or at least attempting to be and he opened his wings landing behind a man struggling to keep walking.

Lucifer.

The effort the stay his hand, keep himself from manifesting was enormous when it shouldn’t have been. After a glance, it was obvious his brother was suffering, steps shuffling, clothes damp, a rattling sound as he breathed, and a distinct cough that shook his body when it insisted on being heard. He looked like the vessel he fell to hell with, minus the soul – thankfully in heaven still where they had flung it when the trap was sprung – and the wear from an enraged archangel. Those blue eyes were cloudy as Lucifer tugged his coat around him tighter, trudging on the other side of a ditch that lined an old country highway. Not much else out here, just an occasional car that sped by without slowing, Lucifer long ago having given up any chance for a ride.

Dean drifted closer to listen to his mind and again had to still his hand.

All the thoughts crowded and focused with utter precision on one person, Sammy.

It made sense in a twisted sort of way. Not only was Sam the one human Lucifer would know to even go to, but it was also the human his brother would have been obsessed with alone in the darkness of hell. All his planning and scheming and moping centered around that one little bag of flesh and bone that was to bring his vengeance to all of this, even if he fell in the process. Dean was never going to claim to understand Lucifer’s bizarre plan of the special children, of not just telling his demons to go pick up Sam Winchester, brother of Dean, when born, outside of the fact he doubted Lucifer trusted his creations more than any of this brothers.

A type of brazen hope littered the thoughts, some convoluted belief that Sam alone would understand what had happened to him and there was a sinking sensation in Dean that Sammy probably would. Here was Satan, banished back to hell and drug back up because Dad was in a good mood on his way out with Raphael, shuffling along an abandoned highway, broken and alone, and in need. His human brother was attempting to turn over a new leaf, figure out what he wanted to be doing, and not becoming a single-minded machine of revenge only echoing phrases about helping people when he really wanted to quell his anger. Sam would probably be terrified but would listen, especially since Morning Star had a clever tongue and the kid was still enamored by anything that could remotely be called an Act of God.

All of this mixed in with Lucifer’s abject fear, reminders to himself to not pray, to not doing anything that could even remotely be a prayer, mixed frantic thought of ‘Michael will find me, Michael will cast me away’.

Hearing that made the urge to just put a blade through his brother’s heart to end his wickedness ease off a great deal. Lucifer, once a commander of heavenly armies, brightest of all Dad’s works, wheezing and half dead trying to get to his human vessel to just get shelter.

It would be comical if he was someone, something else.

Reaching out a little as he walked beside his fallen brother, Michael tried to ease his breathing, take a little of the dampness from his clothes but felt his attempts blocked. He doubted being more aggressive would help and he let his hand fall, watching. His brother seemed to be denied heavenly intervention.

A truck was pulling to a stop, the window on the passenger side rolled down as an older man called out, “Hey, you need a ride?”

Lucifer stopped, standing so still, trembling and Michael wondered what had happened to him before this point to make him afraid.

Once, Lucifer would have never understood fear, now he stood bathed in it.

“Going to start raining again. Maybe take you up a ways so you ain’t out here in the muck so much.”

The man was genuine, nothing of ill-will or otherworldly floating off him, and Lucifer did look pale, tired, and just worn down out here in the brown grass and mud of the ditch.

Small drops of rain seem to coach Lucifer a bit more on accepting a ride at all as he cautiously stepped closer, working his way towards the shoulder, arms still around him unless he needed them for balance.

“I –“ Lucifer stopped, coughing a little, his voice hoarse and the man looked more concerned. “Just trying to reach someone.”

“Best to reach them with a firmer foot on this side of the living, then.”

The lock on the passenger door was popped and swung open as the man scooted back to his side. Lucifer managed to get into the cab, Dean noticing how much his hands shook as his brother closed the door. After a moment's hesitation, Lucifer reached down and began rolling up the window and Dean moved onto the bench seat between them, unknown and unseen.

It was an old truck, not uncommon in the area, well-loved but slowly giving in to the elements with small areas of rust on the outside, worn carpeting, and faded dials within. The bench seat itself had been carefully repaired over and over again and the engine was still smooth as it idled.

“Under the seat there, a blanket. Look downright chilled.”

Lucifer was still cautious as he put his hand under, his thoughts alarmed and unsteady, thinking it was some kind of trap and his brother was wary of things he could no longer sense anymore. Not just demons but monsters that took human form and his apprehension wasn’t unwarranted even if it made his thoughts loud. Insistence in his brother’s mind that there was no kindness, that these types of things were just a means to an end turned and fell over each other, stuck on repeat.

But Lucifer was also exhausted, hurting, and cold.

It was just a blanket, Dean knew it as his brother pulled it out and after wavering for a second, unfolded it and immediately curled up under it. The heat was being turned up in the cab, even though the driver himself was already a bit warm.

What surprised Dean was that as they started down the road again he heard Lucifer murmur ‘thank you’, the man just nodding a little having sensed that Lucifer was fearful and didn’t need yammering in his ear. They were words he would have sworn Lucifer didn’t know the meaning of but that was wrong. Lucifer, in these minutes, was truly thankful, wrapped up, not shaking so much, not quite as cold and Dean stayed with him, his uneasiness as his fallen brother closed the distance between himself and Sam.

No matter what purpose this whole exercise was serving, Michael wasn’t sure he would be able to let Lucifer live in the end.


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

A random knock on the door, at any time, was never welcomed news.

Sam felt that having his hand behind his back on his weapon as he approached the door, Cas having gone off to attend to something for a few minutes, was a testament to his very screwed up existence. Wasn’t like it was late or anything else off about it, just that they didn’t get people dropping on by. Even packages were handled differently if at all possible. As Bobby always said, “Just because you have an address doesn’t mean you need to broadcast it.”

All he could make out through the window was that it was man, a rather miserable looking one who had his head down, arms wrapped around him. Something was pinging in his head, something familiar with the blonde hair even if the clothes he could see, mostly an ill-fitting jacket, didn’t raise any memories.

He swung the door open a little, cautious, watching, trying to think of what to say as whoever this guy was, it was obvious he was sick.

“Don’t pray.”

Fear, something bottoming out in him before that head lifted and he saw. Oh, he saw the face that had haunted his dreams, chased him, claiming that they were two of a kind, the same and that they were always, always destined to be together. The one that had instructed demons to poison families and keep watch over him for his whole damn life. There was a flare of pure rage before Lucifer went into a coughing fit, deep and rough.

A hysterical part of him wanted to insist this was just his human vessel who somehow tracked Sam down, showed up for help. But that wasn’t right, it was too easy, and if there was one thing this universe was, it wasn’t handing over easy wins.

“What do you want?”

Lucifer couldn’t answer as he was still getting his breathing under control but it was clear as day to Sam that the devil was looking at him with some kind of hope. That his wayward vessel was going swing that door right on open and welcome him inside in this new human adventure.

Sam would have none of it, he wouldn’t, except Lucifer wasn’t doing good, eyes glassy, swaying, when he stepped forward his legs gave out a little and Sam managed to grab him on instinct, cursing himself for doing something so foolish. It wasn’t until this moment that Sam saw just how dirty the devil was, shoes with dried mud, clothes flecked with it, a sheen of sweat on the skin. Putting his hand on Lucifer’s forehead, it was easy to feel that he was burning up with fever, the rattling in his lungs the big flashing sign as to just what that noise was constantly vibrating in the air.

He debated with himself for a minute before deciding it was best to get Satan off the front porch.

One, it was common sense. Two, the warding on the house wouldn’t let him inside unless he was human or one of the few non-humans allowed. To Sam’s dismay, Lucifer had no problems outside of the physical effort coming into the house, Sam closing and locking the door behind them. He had half a mind to just leave Lucifer to sprawl himself out in the hallway before half-dragging him into the study.

It was worrisome how easily the devil came, how willingly he just curled up on the couch into a tight little ball, sick and hurting, but more at ease just being here.

“No tricks. Don’t try anything.” His demand was just met with a simple nod, Lucifer shaking and Sam’s hands checked his clothes. “Your all wet. Are you injured anywhere?”

“No.”

Voice still hoarse and barely there.

“Human?”

“Yes.”

Sam ran his hand through his hair, debating with himself because he had personally seen this thing tossed back in the pit. But he also personally knew the archangel Michael was his brother and that God at some point had bopped on by to remove Raphael as a threat. Apparently, digging out Satan for a lesson in humility had been on the To-Do list, and Sam knew that was the big reason he was even considering helping.

“Try to get out of some of that clothing, I’ll be right back.”

Lucifer seemed less inclined to move and if he was honest, Sam didn’t blame him. He’d been that sick before, and he didn’t want to think what it would feel like to something that never felt ill, or hungry, or needed sleep.

Slipping out he made his way to the closet where he kept some spare clothes, whispering to Cas a short-hand version of what was going on, along with the plea to not pray.

Cas was just beside him, eyes wide.

“He is human.”

“Yeah, looking that way,” Sam said, getting out some sweats and a t-shirt as he wasn’t sharing underwear with Satan. He didn’t even do that with Dean.

The angel was quiet as Sam went back to the study. Lucifer to his credit had been attempting to work his boots off but hadn’t gotten real far in the undressing category. Sam didn’t miss how those eyes looked fearful at the sight of Cas standing there, studying all of this. Then, with purpose, Cas marched forward and slammed his hand against Lucifer’s forehead before anyone could say anything. Lucifer wasn’t the only one that flinched even though nothing happened, that rattling breathing still filling in for silence.

“I cannot heal you.”

That wasn’t good and Sam kneaded his lip as he went in more, putting the clothes on Bobby’s desk before crouching down to help with the boots. A hand wave and Lucifer’s clothes were a pile on the floor and the devil was wearing what Sam had brought with him.

So, at least that little bit of angel magic was still functioning.

“Do you know what he’s sick with, Cas? We can get the right meds if we know what it is.”

“I do, yes.” A pause, Cas still looking at his fallen brother with narrowed eyes, Lucifer unable to keep the gaze and Sam knew he just wanted to lay back down. “Do you know how you are here?”

“No.”

“I will return shortly with what is needed. Do not vex me, Lucifer. You have a small reprieve before I must inform heaven.”

He was gone and Sam was torn between feeling panicked and absolutely relieved to not be under the intensity that was Cas. Getting himself upright again, he went and got a blanket, coaxing Lucifer to lay down.

“I’ll get you something for the fever and something to drink.”

With those words, Lucifer finally relaxed a little, curling back up under the wool. He looked so tiny, so not like what Sam had only seen in person a couple of times, the confident if not unhinged archangel who believed he could do what he wanted because he was right. Sam wanted to shake him, demand to know why Lucifer would come to him of all people but he already knew. Oh, there were so many reasons, between Lucifer’s obsession with him to his views that the two of them were the same but in the end, it most likely boiled down to the fact that there was no one else.

Dean would probably call him an eternal sap for not just shooting him on the porch and instead, believing that God had arranged at least part of this. If his brother didn’t just shiv him for not doing the responsible thing and killing Satan, that is.

He put water on to boil for some tea, getting a glass of water, attention never fully off the half-asleep devil on his couch but nothing happened. Just the idea settling more into him that things were bound to get worse.

* * *

Their stench of sulfur was the easiest to find, standing out to him against all the smells on earth.

This one, sunk well into the human body and seeming to want to look normal, was hiding. There were clipped thoughts of some purge Crowley was doing against the Lucifer supporters and Dean shook his head a little, watching this thing as it was in a crowd currently.

The soul in the body the demon was in was pushed down, not outwardly screaming but if it ever regained control, reconnected to its physical brain, all of that would change. All the actions of the creature in her were recorded in bright detail and they would become her own memories, her own deeds.

He had seen it over and over again, humans too traumatized to continue, curled up and weeping at his feet. There was only one way to deal with these things now.

His steps were right behind her, people flowing around them. Her look made him think of the vessels Lilith always preferred when taking an adult – she had a type and went after it no matter where on earth she had to scrounge one up from. Long blond hair, lithe frame catching the eyes of some men and a few women as she walked sure and full of confidence and Dean wondered how the soul in there usually walked, just who was mourning her missing body.

It was nearing dusk as the demon turned down a less crowded street but he refrained from pulling her now. Any extra grace usage just attracted Gabriel sooner.

Lilith. The one who had no choice and was probably the only one he could feel anything towards, no matter how twisted in the end she had become. Her fears that she wasn’t as immortal as his brother had tried to make out, tied up into this big game with no reprieve. For her, he could feel something close to pity even if it was fleeting.

The rest came to be this under their own drive. The princes wanting power and glory, Cain wanting his brother and just succumbing when it got difficult, the souls that went downstairs every day selling themselves for fleeting things on earth and damning themselves into eternal torment. Even he had done that.

She was walking up to a house, digging keys out of her pocket and he knew no one else was home right now. He wondered how many souls she had tortured in hell, the perfect machine where the old turned the new and there would always be new because humans were easily tricked.

Door opening and there were both inside, Michael still hidden from her sight as she closed the door, looking relieved. There were photos of a family with her host in them in this entry hallway as she turned the deadbolt.

There wasn’t even time for her to cry out as he slammed his hand onto her forehead, the demon inside burning, the host body collapsing, eyes restored and looking peaceful crumpled into a heap in the hallway. Her shocked soul was standing there, staring at him, as a reaper came.

“Go with your reaper,” he said as she looked uncertain. Her soul was still pure and there was no reason to fear. “You will torment your family if you do not.”

With a good deal of trepidation she went. Her human family would mourn her sudden death and move on and he took flight.

The smell of sulfur was ever-present on earth.

* * *

“And you didn’t think to tell me this sooner?”

Gabriel was tense, a slight glow in his eyes, and Castiel had little answer for him other than he was trying to balance two requests at once. It wouldn’t help in this situation, his brother’s fists curled at his sides after just returning to view Sam’s unwelcomed house guest. So he remained silent, understanding there was no answer he could give that would be satisfactory to his older brother.

“When’s the last time Deano skipped on by to check on Sam?” Gabriel finally asked, the shadows around them deepening in this field close to Singer’s.

“At least two weeks. I have to protect his dreams every night now.” He wanted to add but didn’t that Michael had come every night before, had always eased Sam off to sleep and it was comforting even if his oldest brother didn’t want to be found.

“So, the likelihood of him knowing about Satan taking up residence with his Sammy is probably nil.” Gabriel tilted his head back a little, his features scrunching up in something Castiel could only call consternation. “You know it’s going to end like super violently, right? Like, you two can’t keep your evil house guest chillin’ on the couch. Where’s the old geezer that has common sense?”

“Out on a case.”

There was something else wrong with Gabriel, he was beginning to realize that now. His brother had so many human mannerisms, so many little tells he had developed over his time as a pagan god, and it surprised him that Gabriel himself seemed not as aware of them as he should be. Nervous, his brother was nervous and it wasn’t fitting.

“Gabriel, do you know how Michael is?”

Silence, Gabriel still in that tense pose, and Castiel worried more.

“Do you know why he has ceased visiting Sam?” he asked, afraid of the answer now as he had hoped, maybe in a fit of denial, that Michael’s absence was merely due to self-introspection.

“You know Mike’s been having issues –“

“I need to know what kind, right now, Gabriel,” he said, cutting off whatever blanket statement his brother was about to say. He appreciated that Gabriel looked slightly angry. “Whether or not I am assigned to Sam Winchester, I would still protect him. Not having complete information goes against that.”

“Pushy little thing, aren’t you?”

Gabriel was closer now and Castiel could see that he had been correct, anger and apprehension radiated off his brother. He stood his ground, as he had not said anything untrue and he was reaching a point where he was exhausted with not having answers. A small head shake, Gabriel’s eyes dropping a little and Castiel knew he would greatly dislike the answer coming.

“Mikey’s gone on a demon purifying kick, leaves the hosts dead too, now.” His brother’s voice was soft, and he barely managed to school his reaction to that news.

Sam. Sam poisoned by demon blood, who had consorted with demons, still smelled like one of them even if he never would be.

“I take it that it is not just a few.”

“He’s been amping up over the last little bit. Was once or twice a day and often with a monster he found.”

“And today?”

“Two dozen.”

“I see.”

Sam and Lucifer under one roof was a fire waiting to happen and he sorely wished his brother would offer to move their fallen brother turned human somewhere far away. It was already complicated enough to explain to Sam that he hadn’t done anything to chase Dean away and watch the boy drown in his guilt. Now, if Michael found them harboring Lucifer, it would be a great betrayal in his mind and he didn’t know what Michael would do to any of them.

“I have no objections to you moving him.”

“Oh no,” Gabriel said, waving a finger at him. “You two muttonheads are in this now. Dad let Luci loose on earth for a reason and I am not getting in the way of this. Not anymore. You two want to distance yourselves – you figure out where the hell to stick the devil. And if I were you, I’d get it right.”

With that he was alone and he mulled over his choices. He could leave Lucifer somewhere. Sam was talented enough with fake documents and money that they could set up an identity for him. The problem that neatly presented itself was that Lucifer was still a wealth of information, more than likely had resources stored on earth somewhere, and more than likely would have followers eager enough to help him even as a human. Unsupervised and bitter, his brother could still do a great deal of damage or be drug off and tortured for said knowledge.

He was uncertain and he knew to be guarded when he spoke to Sam. It would do no good for the man to know his brother couldn’t stand visiting him due to his tainted soul and he took flight, unwilling to leave Sam alone with the devil for too long, no matter how sick the latter truly was.

* * *

Cas had convinced Sammy to go out for a few minutes, probably to catch a breather as his brother looked downright spent and Michael smiled a little. It gave him time outside of their constant hovering as he heard the door close behind their soft voices.

He found Lucifer half dozing in the spare bed, leaning back on pillows and he felt disgusted. His fallen brother had been sick enough to warrant them using an IV to push meds and fluids and all the things Lucifer did not deserve. None of these things should be for him, used for him, given to him. Pale skin and sickly breathing masked the monster underneath all of this, the ancient being that had twisted himself up into knots because he didn’t get his way.

Unfelt, he put his hand on Lucifer’s neck, feeling the pulse under his fingers, the struggle of this body. Lucifer got to be one thing, he got to taste and to sleep and to feel pain and pleasure. He was displeased that if Satan wanted to, he could have sex and fully enjoy it, could bleed when cut, get drunk from alcohol or high from drugs and completely lose himself as he shifted himself fully onto the earthly plane.

“Hello, brother.” He enjoyed Lucifer’s panic, the way those eyes widened as the mind tried to figure out what to do, how to escape. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

“Michael, I –“

“Sshh,” Dean said, putting a finger on that mouth, Lucifer instantly stilling. “Are you worried that I’m going to take your last words to me to heart, all about your hate of me and how you were going to rip me apart because I no longer please you?”

All he got was a swallow in return, and he smiled, allowing his fingers to move and caress that clammy cheek.

“You know what I’ve been doing?”

“No,” was the choked reply, eyes never leaving him and he enjoyed how his brother trembled under his touch.

“I’ve been exterminating your little creations one by one,” he said, tapping that cheek. “And thinking. You always claimed the problem was them, but really, brother, it was always, always you.”

“Michael –“

“Quiet,” he hissed and that mouth snapped shut. “They didn’t know hate, or deceit, the want of power or evil until you skipped right on into their garden and stuck your hands in them. The taint wasn’t in them, even with their free choice. It came from your fingers, from your very essence.”

Lucifer was trying to shuffle over and Michael let him, watching as his brother found himself caught on the other side of the bed by the IV line still firmly implanted.

“And you’ve come to push my face in the mud?” Lucifer seemed emboldened a bit by distance as he struggled to figure out how to disconnect himself.

“No. I just want you to understand why I have to kill you.”

That did it. It was those words and Lucifer ripped the IV line straight out, the pain barely felt as he ran towards the door with unsteady feet. It was easy to catch him, throw him up against the door hard enough that it slammed shut, arm to that throat, Lucifer wheezing in short breaths against his face.

“Running from angels, are we?”

Hands grasped at him and he was half surprised to see tears in those eyes, thoughts frantic that he would die here, that somehow he still didn’t understand. Morning Star never would, he would never see past himself to care for anything else.

“What? No comments about how I’m only half-angel, an abomination that must be destroyed?” he asked, liking the choked sounds his brother made before stepping back and backhanding him, Lucifer collapsing to his knees. “You’re pathetic. You lose your wings and suddenly your helpless, can’t even say what you’re thinking.”

Michael crouched down beside him, grabbing his chin and forcing Lucifer’s face up. “Tell me what you think about me right now.”

“Monster.”

“Very good, little brother. Tell me what else you’re thinking.”

Silence, Lucifer coughing, unable to free himself even as a hand tried to pry against his wrist, those cold eyes no longer defiant but beaten down and unable to meet his own.

“Let me help. You’re thinking I might be right. That the problem is you. Except, little brother, you think it’s because nothing loved you when really, it’s because you betrayed all of us to get your way. Sound familiar?”

“If you’re going to kill me, kill me.”

“Not yet,” Dean said, releasing his face and rising. “Not done with you yet.”

The front door was opening and he slipped from sight, Lucifer’s eyes wild as his arm bled from where he had pulled the line. He appreciated how his brother crawled across the floor, getting to the bed to get himself back up, fishing for his shoes that Sam had placed nearby.

There was a knock on the door, Sam entering with a container of some sort and frowning at the sight of Satan wrestling with his boots when he could barely catch a breath.

“What the hell happened?” Sam was asking, coming in, grabbing the still bleeding arm, Cas not far behind him.

“Have to leave,” was the muttered response. “Can’t stay here.”

“Yeah, no, not happening until you can walk ten steps without stopping for a breather.”

Sam had put down the container on the nightstand and was working to get the boots away from the devil’s hands when Castiel spoke.

“What did he say?”

The struggle Lucifer put up immediately stilled and he dropped his face away as Sam demanded who was saying what.

“Michael. That is why he’s so upset. Michael was here.”

“You saw him?” Sam asked, catching Lucifer’s shoulder, something like a desperate plea. “Was he okay?”

“Peachy. It was a regular ‘Welcome to Earth’ party.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “He didn’t kill you.”

That same unnatural stillness as Dean watched Sam get it, understand what would be coming in the future though he raised an eyebrow that Cas was unruffled by all the events as he came over to the two.

“It does no good to run. We’ll attend to your arm and then you will eat.”

Whatever response to that Lucifer was cooking up was swallowed back down when he saw Sam’s face, worried and terrified, and let the boots be taken away from him and helped back into the bed. As he watched Sam fix the wound and prepare a new IV stick, Dean paid more attention to his human brother. Sammy was suffering, exhausted and beaten down, the taint of what Lucifer did clinging stubbornly to him, a wave of quiet anger at the world-building each day. He curled his fingers, thinking about what damage Lucifer did to Sam alone and then have the gall to believe that the human would help him at all. It was difficult to not just snap his brother’s neck in an instant and relieve all of them of this problem.

But Sam, Sam was different. Sam didn’t have to stay here and suffer. He was allowed into heaven and it was becoming more tempting each day to take him. Free him from the burdens put on him and let him dream whatever he liked.

Michael opened his wings and flew away from the idea for a while but he found himself not to be averse to the idea that the best way to protect Sam was to simply kill him.


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

“Six days, not even a week, and you two managed to adopt Satan.”

Sam looked down as Bobby paced in front of his desk. He was surprised Cas was still there, getting this dressing-down without a word, just the same resolute stare that the angel always had. Bobby had been quietly livid when he had stumbled over an explanation when the old man came home and didn’t know what to add when Bobby took a good look at the sleeping devil in the spare bedroom.

“And you, feathers, could of dropped me a line. Popped in for a moment to give me an update about what was going on in my own damn house.”

“I apolo- “

“Can it,” Bobby snapped, Cas immediately closing his mouth and Sam made his focus be entirely consumed by the terrible threadbare carpet on the floor in here. “Damage is done. Dean knows?”

Unable to speak, Sam nodded his head.

“And he didn’t kill him outright? Maybe –“

“He plans to, just not right now.” Sam was nervous, voice hoarse and scrapping and there’s a sense of foreboding in him that the next time he goes to look in on Luci that he’d either have a corpse or a pile of ash.

“Balls.”

Bobby took off his hat, rubbing his forehead, but whatever he was about to say next was cut off by a small thud coming in the vicinity of Satan’s bedroom. Because of course, why wouldn’t it be?

“Go see what the not so wanted house guest is up to, while the angel and I discuss what constitutes proper safekeeping.”

Cas’s face was tight, the angel not saying a word as Sam swallowed down a protest that he was not a little boy. It wouldn’t get him anywhere right now, just a meaningless fight, and wouldn’t change the fact that part of this was his own fault. He had invited Luci through the door and then put off telling Bobby until the old man was climbing up the front steps.

Gabriel’s harsh words from an impromptu dream visit were echoing in his mind: _You let him out. He is your responsibility._

Slipping away, glad to be away from the tension in the study that had been growing heavier in the gloom of dusk, he went down the hall, finding Lucifer half in the downstairs bathroom, wheezing.

“What are you –“

“Be quiet,” the fallen angel hissed, half leaning on the doorknob. “Not using that other stuff. Degrading if I have to put up with this.”

“With what?” Sam raised an eyebrow but he wanted to hear it, got some thrill out of this that he couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t be obtuse. You’re stubborn, not stupid.”

Sam crossed his arms, trying to hide his worry that Lucifer still wheezed so much, his words in sharp staccato. He was healing, slowly, the damage going down each day but that he was still so sick was a testament to how bad he had really been. How the devil even got all the way here from where ever he was popped out at was a mystery unto itself.

Sam pushed away thoughts that Dean had anything to do with that if Lucifer’s fear was real and he knew it was.

“Waiting on my answer.”

Satan had managed to get his sweat pants down and was currently on the john, glaring up at the indecency of Sam staring at him while this was happening.

“The whole digestive system your kind insist on having.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “How we stay alive, Luce.”

What he didn’t like right now was how just a short walk had winded the fallen angel, a pallor in his skin with a layer of sweat stuck to it. Knowing Bobby was a packrat he left the scene for a minute, digging around in the back closet till he found it, still in one piece. In some ways, he was surprised the old man hadn’t taken it outside and lit it on fire after Gabriel had healed him, but probably Bobby felt that it could be useful in the future.

Keeping it closed he wheeled it back to the bathroom door, positioning it as Lucifer was getting himself righted. Flushing, the angel just got in without complaint and Sam thought even Lucifer had been pondering how he was going to get back to bed.

“Pick your feet up.”

He was obeyed and Sam got him back to the backroom, exhaustion already setting in as he moved around to help Lucifer out, no matter how much the latter tried to handwave him away. Seeing the dark circles under those eyes as he laid the back of his hand against that too warm skin told him something he had been missing.

“Going to take your temp,” he said, fumbling a little with the ear one that Cas had dragged back as Lucifer got himself out of the chair and onto the bed. “You not sleeping much?”

Lucifer wouldn’t look at him as he stuck the tip of the thermometer in the devil’s ear, which should be hilarious. This whole situation made him feel like he should be laughing himself into madness.

“Up again,” he said when the silence between them stretched on and a beep told him it was back to over a hundred and two. The fever the devil couldn’t shake, maybe because he was eternally cold. “Going to give you something for that and your breathing.”

Lucifer was sitting up, he had to be with his lung issues, fingers clutching at the sheet, eyes cast away and Sam wanted to shake him all over again. Demand that he at least answer the questions because they were trying to keep him alive instead of just murder him outright. He already knew that the animosity between them could definitely grow deeper and a sick Satan was one that wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

“Nightmares?” he guessed, picking up bottles and shuffling out the doses onto a small napkin on the bed stand.

A nod, the irony not lost on Sam.

“Should have told me sooner. Can give you something that may help since it’s probably just your brain and not outside influences. Hold out your hand.”

A hand was offered and he dropped the pills into it, handing over a cup of water. He kept an eye on Lucifer, making sure those pills were taken as he pulled up the seat of the wheelchair, leaving it against the wall. Might as well not make it easy for Lucifer to try to escape, the last thing he needed was to find Satan trying to figure a way down the front stairs to whatever freedom he thought was out there.

Pills taken, Sam took the water back, not missing the slight tremors in the devil’s hands. Bobby and Cas had been quiet and he hoped that maybe he wasn’t too hated right now as he started for the door.

“Sam.”

He turned, waiting, Lucifer looking at him but nothing else followed as the devil went back to clutching at the sheet. He wanted to press, demand that Lucifer tell him whatever it was he wanted to say when he said his name like that. Instead, he pushed his anger back for a little while longer.

“Going to make you something to eat and some of that tea to help you sleep. Doesn’t taste real good, but it should help.”

All he got was another nod, and he slipped out going to the kitchen, seeing Bobby and Cas seated by the big desk, voices soft and he didn’t know if that was good or bad as he put the kettle on. The little container with the concoction Gabriel had given him was still up on the top shelf, complete with a strainer. He smiled a little at the memory of his first taste of the stuff.

“I’m an archangel, not a chef. And there’s such things as honey, you know,” Gabriel had huffed, arms crossed, and Sam had had to bite back words about how he was surprised it just wasn’t pure sugar.

The little bottle of honey was up there too, and he got it down, taking out a spoon. This was his ‘in case Cas had to be out for a while and he might fall asleep’ safeguard.

Some nights, when it was crushing, this weight from the absence of Dean, he swore Cas was close to him as he slept dreamlessly. Like there was a scent caught in him, a warmth along him, even if Cas was across the room from him when he opened his eyes.

None of this was helping. It was just wishful thinking from a lonely imagination seeking refuge and he distracted himself by getting the tea set in the strainer.

A hand was on his shoulder and he managed only to jump a little, turning to find Bobby behind him, looking solemn but not so angry anymore.

“Get the idea that whatever is going on, we can’t just toss him out. Just wish he’d had found a different place to roost.”

“I know,” Sam whispered, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment. “I know.”

* * *

With his hearing, he could pick up on Lucifer’s whine even on the other side of the house, protesting the leaving of Sam, as he waited by the front door. It was good that Singer could not hear it, as it would only agitate the man further.

“Good to get out of here. You two need a break, get that boy’s mind off of all this for a little while.”

Castiel gave a small nod. “If his condition worsens or if you have any concerns, please pray or call me.”

“Trust me, already got you on speed dial.”

Castiel could feel the distant weight of the phone in his pocket, the one he kept now for Sam to call him when he had to slip away and attend to something on earth for Gabriel. It allowed him to ease Sam’s mind, or to tell him if there was a delay, and he found himself surprised over how grateful he was over the simple device to allow him to communicate with humans.

His eyes fell to the front door and he thought of this morning when he had taken Lucifer to the porch beyond it. Being trapped, even if not physically, was uncomfortable for any of his kind, and he knew his fallen brother had been appreciative even if he didn’t voice it.

Memories of how badly he had felt towards the end, the way the flesh had clung to his dying form too tightly haunted him still.

“Did they know how bad it was for you before Dad popped by to power you up?” Lucifer had asked, watching him in the early morning sun, barely warm enough beneath a heavy blanket.

“No,” he had said, and he had no real desire to share it with any of his humans. They knew he was taking longer to heal, bled more, grew tired, and lost abilities, but the sheer brutality of physical existence had begun to overcome him and he remembered how lost he had truly begun to feel.

“Well, he’s not happy,” Sam said, coming up to them, bag hoisted over one shoulder. “But he’ll live. Might be petulant, just ignore him.”

“So, same as usual,” Bobby answered, and Cas like the small smile the boy gave in return. “Be safe out there.”

“Will do.”

Castiel got the door for his friend, grateful that Singer had kept his thoughts to himself instead of lecturing him on actually guarding Sam before they left.

The hunt was only a few miles east of here, something simple for Sam to take his mind off of everything, and Castiel found he enjoyed being outside, the air warming up as Sam put his bag in the car. There was a strain in Sam that Castiel picked up on, which may be from simply dealing with Lucifer. He did not want to push, making more of an effort to not hear the thoughts in Sam’s mind. Privacy had been something unaccustomed to before he met with this family but was something that had grown in value to him the longer he remained.

The car was started in silence, Castiel settling himself into the seat, but a glance over told him that his friend was on edge, hands tight on the steering wheel as they pulled out. He tried to think of what to say but he was always poor at starting conversations, even more so when it was tense. It was not something that came simply to him. Dean had always scolded him for skipping the pleasantries.

“He didn’t want me to leave, at all,” Sam said after a few minutes. “I hate to say it, think he was terrified. Thought maybe at first it was because he thought Bobby wouldn’t help him but I don’t think that was it.”

There was a glance in his direction and Castiel found himself curling up his hands in his lap, some learned response he had gained from his time falling. It was not lost to his friend.

“Tell me what’s going on. I know Dean – Dean wants –“ Sam couldn’t seem to finish that sentence and it trailed off, the words lost but known all the same.

A parking lot was coming up and Castiel pointed at it, Sam driving into it and turning off the car, face tight with an apprehension that Castiel wished he could put at ease but knew his news would not be welcomed.

“Would Dean – Michael, either of them, actually kill Lucifer after all of this?”

“I don’t know, Sam.”

A nod, Sam absently wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still focused on the grimy asphalt in front of them and nothing else.

“What the hell is actually going on, Cas? Feels like I don’t have the whole picture here, that all of this is even worse than I’ve been imagining.”

“I only just found out.” Castiel paused, understood he was hedging, disliking the look in Sam’s eyes when the boy finally turned to look at him. “Dean has shifted his focus from monsters.”

“Not, not like humans, right?”

“Demons.”

“Okay.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, taking a breath. “Getting the idea it’s worse than just casting them out.”

“He has been killing the hosts. I believe he feels that it saves them the pain of remembering what was done in the body when they are alone once again.”

“Isn’t that kind of what you guys did already, maybe not for the human benefit.”

Castiel released he was shifting in his seat, uncomfortable and Sam’s full focus was on him now.

“How many?”

“From my understanding, at least a dozen a day now.”

“Christ.” Sam hit the steering wheel, already aware that Michael would simply increase the numbers more and more until he ran out of the twisted souls on earth and his attention shifted to something else. “Is that why he doesn’t come, because of what’s in me?”

“Sam.”

“Don’t.” Sam’s voice was soft, lost, and Castiel moved closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, disliking how the man flinched.

“What was done to you was not your fault. Our brother knows this. I believe he is keeping his distance because he does not wish to harm you.”

Sam shook his head. “And with me gone, then Lucifer is a sitting target, at least that’s what Luci thinks, right?”

“Yes.”

Castiel let his hand fall back to his lap, unsure of himself as Sam ran a hand through his hair. He was prepared if Sam turned the car around and went back to Singer’s to try to safeguard Lucifer, to keep his brother from doing something there may be no return from. Instead, Sam just leaned a little against the door, defeated.

“Anything else I should know about?”

Pausing again, he knew his hesitation was being picked up on as Sam let out a low sound, something like a laugh caught in sorrow.

“Spite it out, Cas.”

“When Father removed Raphael from heaven he spoke to the Choir.” Castiel felt himself swallow, a strange human thing, as Sam’s focus was instantly on him. “Of the things he said was that Michael was to be honored and remained the Viceroy of Heaven.”

“Does Dean know?”

“We do not believe, in his condition, he was capable of hearing. Gabriel thought –“

“Screw Gabriel!” Sam’s hand hit the steering wheel again, this time hard enough that there could be an injury as Castiel grabbed him. “He needs to know. Either you tell him on our way out to this place or I tell him when we get there, but he needs to know.”

“Alright, Sam.”

Gently, he took the man’s hand, turning it over, already sensing that there was a bruise forming deep in the tissue. A soft press and he used it as an excuse to let Sam have some of his grace, to soothe his soul as well as his body.

“Cas, I’m sorry –“

“We are both worn. I am unsure if he will believe us.”

“He needs to know, even if he’s too stubborn to take our word for it.”

Castiel did agree with Sam as he let go of his hand. Michael should know he had a home just as Gabriel was probably correct in his estimation that Michael would not accept it as such. Somewhere out on this earth was a lost archangel, one who had torn himself asunder and had reformed only to suffer all over again.

He stayed close to Sam as the car was restarted, a haunting reminder to both of Dean. Dean has loved this car, put his soul into it, one of the few things he ever owned, and being in here was still stifling to him without his brother. He imagined that it was worse for Sam who had grown up in it.

As Sam drove on, the sun light on them, bright and warm, Castiel began to mentally prepare his prayer to his brother.

* * *

Sam’s voice was quiet now. It had been that way for weeks and Michael was unsurprised that it was almost a strain to hear the majority of the prayer that had come to him from his human brother a few hours ago. Something about Father having spoken about him, telling heaven to accept him as is.

He let out a bitter laugh, not feeling the cold wind on him, a corpse at his feet that he was still debating on moving so at least the family of the human could have closure.

Dear old Dad, apparently big on the abandoning part towards him, came for the rest. Simply took Raphi away to not have to face his big consequences of what he had done to their brothers. Lucifer, while suffering, was free and had shacked up with his family. Gabriel off flouncing around doing Gabriel things and ignoring him, though Dean was still keenly aware that his brother may still half-heartedly try to come for him when he used his grace.

But for him, nope, it was left to be torn apart from grief, then reborn broken to start the whole damn play over again. Thanks, Dad, don’t want what you’re giving out.

Sam – Sam’s voice echoed in him, loud and clear and positively distressed and Dean pushed off without thinking.

He had wanted to remain cloaked but that idea was lost as he came to the room, some little run-down place that was the Winchester Family special. Only this one was torn apart, furniture knocked over, the mattress on the bed pushed half off. Sam was bleeding, panting, and half-conscious and he realized the other name his brother was trying to say.

“Sam.”

Those eyes were glazing over but Michael didn’t miss the fright in them, the look of fear that death had come and he crouched down.

“They took him – they were here for him.”

“Who?”

“Cas. It was demons. Only a few at first and then –“ Sam coughed, spitting up a little blood and Michael reached out, not missing how Sam flinched when he touched him to heal.

“Castiel is a Seraph now, Sam. He would be hard to contain for a few black-eyed minions.”

A head shake, Sam looking clearer. “No, something else happened, they picked on me to get his attention, and then there was light and he was –“

Michael put his hand to Sam’s head again, looking for the memory he wanted. Through the boy’s limited vision that was exactly what happened, which meant something more powerful was stirring. With a limited presence on earth from heaven and Crowley’s big take over that caused mixed opinions in the lower depths, he was unsurprised over violence. No, what bothered him was that Sam would be a better target for those seeking power or some sort of barter than an angel of the choir.

Sam was staring at him like he was about to go off the deep end and Dean shook himself out, realizing this was the first time he’d been around Sam for a long time.

“Come on, you big lug, going take you back to Bobby’s,” he said, helping his brother up. “Whatcha two doing out here?”

“Haunting,” Sam murmured, looking around the room like Cas’s body would have escaped his notice. “Just for a break.”

“Grab your bag. Good. Going to feel a bit weird.”

He opened his wings, gathering his brother and the car parked outside, depositing the latter outside of Bobby’s and the former in Bobby’s study, relieved he hadn’t accidentally reversed that. His eyes took in Lucifer on the couch, under a blanket, looking completely at home.

“What the blue hell happened? Sam, are you alright?”

Sam was answering but it wasn’t important as a very old rage uncoiled within him. Lucifer’s blue eyes, as cold as his being, widened and Michael was close to trying to draw his blade, simply end this right now. It was the essence of what he was, the first commands, drive back the dark and protect all life if it was worthy. Even if Lucifer wasn’t directly behind this, something he had created was and he long ago forfeited his right to –

“Dean.”

Sam had moved into his field of vision, blocking out his view of his fallen brother and Dean blinked a moment, aware that Sam had placed a hand on his shoulder. It pained him that Sam looked like he might die, that he would ever do anything that wasn’t in his brother’s best interest.

It was gut-wrenching that his little brother was once again afraid of him.

“Cas is pretty big now, bigger than when he got tangled up in this. Not a whole lot out there that could just up and drag him off. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Okay.” Sam looked uncertain, letting his hand fall and Dean took in Bobby who had a strange look on his face, expressing something he couldn’t name.

He opened his wings and took flight, knowing that it was wise to leave while he still had some control, Sam’s pain palatable in the air. He knew Sam didn’t want to see him like this, what he wanted was Castiel and he would find that stubborn little angel and bring him back to his brother, it was one of the few things he could offer Sam, perhaps better offered to him in the heavenly planes instead of going through endless heartbreak on earth.

If he had simply taken Sam to heaven, then both of them would be safe.

The dark humor that he may finally be forced to contact Gabriel was not lost on him as he flew, looking for the next demon to not only vanquish now but strip information out of. Michael smiled in expectation.


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

Some things never seemed to change – demons being profoundly dedicated to Hell’s indifference and lack of knowledge as to what was going on being some of them. Hours wasted outside of it being apparent that whatever had happened was not a grand scheme on Hell’s part. Crowley’s slimy appeasement that he had no hands in this and empty promises to find out who did forced his hand into a meeting.

A courtesy meet but he was on edge, not wanting to have to see his brother but needed to all the same. On his terms, of course, away from traps Gabriel might lay to drag him back home with false promises to once again get out of his burdens. Michael leaned against a tree, cloaked from view, waiting when Gabriel touched down, looking shifty and uneasy, some of his natural traits.

“Against my better judgment, I’m here.”

“Hello, Gabriel,” Michael said, sliding into view, appreciating the way his younger brother took a step back even though more than twenty feet already separated them.

Gabriel raised his hands. “Playing by the rules here – nothing but an information exchange, Mikey, okay? I want him back, too.”

“Kind of a terrible job you’re doing if a Seraph can just be grabbed any old time.”

“Don’t you start with me,” his brother hissed. “Neither of us knew the extent of what was going on –“

“Some of us just refused to stay home.”

“I’m not here to get into a war over who’s fault is it more, kay? It’s a mess, Raphael had them controlled, and herding the cats isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“So that’s the excuse you’re using now to not help?”

Gabriel rolled his shoulders. “No. I need to go shut down a rebellion attempt and then maybe if they can avoid killing each other for five minutes, I can come.”

“Tell me what you know.”

“I don’t know which one of hell’s residents it is this week. There have been some whispers that angels have gone missing over the centuries. You know, outside of the normal ‘disappeared into heavenly dungeons’ or scurried off somewhere that wasn’t home sweet home. Raphi wasn’t real concerned, thought they just ran off, but I know at least one of them had friends faithful to heaven that insist it wasn’t that.”

“And you believe them.” Michael shifted, wondering when Gabriel had grown so naïve.

“On this one, yes. It was Jegudiel. Responsibility was right in his job title.”

“Perhaps he had changed, as we all have.”

“Saw him around sometimes on earth, still doing minor miracles on the side when sent, until I just didn’t see him. His friends insist he just vanished one day, they’re still looking for him, but I’m thinking there’s not a whole lot left.”

“Raphael may have done something.”

“True,” Gabriel allowed. “Seems like an angel is up and gone every four-six decades or so.”

“That’s all you have?”

Gabriel shrugged, folding his arms across his chest in an attempt to look unconcerned. “Sam said they had gone out for a bit after getting there and had just come back. Don’t know if you looked at that room but something followed, laid a big giant trap complete with frosted windows.

“I saw.”

“Know you’ll be thrilled, but I do know of a few Pagans over the years using demons as hench monkeys, and some of the elders are still fairly juiced. Catching Cas by surprise, the fight’s half won already.”

“So, what you have for me is a trail of missing or dead brothers that no one has cared about and no remote idea of what actually might have swiped him.”

“Didn’t say I had all the answers here.”

“Do you have any, at all?” Michael narrowed his eyes, disliking the way Gabriel seemed to back up a little more. “I should have known you would be limited since you stopped talking to me weeks ago.”

“Michael, I –“

“Oh, hush, Gabriel,” he interrupted, not missing the troubled look on his brother’s face. Gabriel always did like to dress in guilt. “You’re free, I shouldn’t be surprised. But there is one thing I’d like to know, little brother.”

“What’s that?” Everything went rigid in his brother, watching with keen interest and Michael was not remiss to know Gabriel was calculating where this was going. He would not be surprised if this was an image, one of Gabriel’s tricks, in the first place. He had always been good at them, learned them from Lucifer, after all.

“I heard Dad made an appearance.”

“Not so much an appearance, just voice.” Gabriel was instantly cautious, a sign he may be forced into some honesty with his trickery that amused Michael.

“Why keep it from me?”

“You, uh, haven’t been in a good space, lately, in case, you know, you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ll take your disapproval of my activities under advisement. What did He say?”

“Just that you’re still leader and the little ones need to stop being morons.”

“I assume that’s paraphrased.”

Gabriel shrugged again, shifting back and forth on his feet now. “Michael, come home.”

“So you can wander off again –“

“No, you dumbass, either of your homes! I don’t care which at this point, but this, whatever it is you’re doing, it’s not helping you. You’re, you’re –“

“What?” Michael finally prompted as his brother seemed unable to complete that thought, the wind picking up around them.

“You’re different,” Gabriel answered, finally, his voice almost lost in the coming of a storm that may not be all-natural. “I don’t know how else to say it.”

“More reason not to. Strange to be so judged by a brother who refuses to let me see him.”

Michael pushed off before Gabriel could respond with whatever lie he wanted to tell today over that. At some point, Gabriel had carved himself into a different creature and Michael was certain his brother would always blame him for the havoc it wreaked.

Gabriel was silent since his departure and he hardened himself. Only a fool would think something like his brother could actually feel remorse and it made no difference. There was no love, only duty, and he cast out his gaze in search of signs of activities kept hidden from the eyes of heaven.

* * *

The chains that attach him in the middle of the intricate spell work refused to respond to any of his efforts to lift them. They only rattled, digging into this vessel in a way he was not typically aware of and Castiel forced himself to stop struggling. His eyes ran over the warding on the walls, blood and paint and etchings, and he felt the pull of his lips against the thread that was keeping him silenced.

Something had disliked his voice that made the lower reaches tremble, taken it away by sewing his mouth shut.

The guard watching him by the only door in this room that he could see was smug but Castiel could sense the fear in it. This demon was not high ranking. By the smell, he would assume only more recently turned and out to prove itself. If he had his voice, this twisted being would be on his knees and he understood that this creature was gloating but far too stupid to realize that he had signed his death warrant.

Footsteps behind him and Castiel tried to turn, the bindings running far into his being, containing him more eloquently than something like Zachariah ever dared hope. He still had a few of his senses even if his hearing was diminished and he could taste what was in the air, what was behind him even if he had no name yet.

“Leave us.”

The voice by him was accented and the guard was gone without so much of an argument as the footsteps continued. He was aware of being studied and he forced himself to not react, to not give this creature more pleasure.

“All the rest stood like you, too.”

The voice was lilting, Castiel recognizing it now as one of the accents of the American south but he doubted that was how this tormented being had talked long ago. It smelled old, the magic here used to bind him was old or older than most humans.

“Gotta say, it’s thrilling having you here. You are, so far, the biggest I have hooked. Oh, the potential in you, what you’ll bring to save you, is titillating. But we have time for all of that. We should get acquainted first.”

A figure moved into his view now and he knew he did a poor job of hiding his surprise at the being held within that flesh. Long ago, it had been declared the princes were dead but he had found that it had been a lie before. Azazel had tortured his humans, cursed Sam, helped to destroy families, and bring about Lucifer. Either Raphael had been naïve or had simply not cared to know if the destruction of the princes was true. Michael was not there to lead them.

Asmodeus was in front of him now, studying him. Castiel felt it was to find the best places to start on first. Despite what Dean did think of him at times, he understood many things, and he was brought here to be subjugated by a demon who knew how to bring pain to a creature like him. The host he had was older, graying hair at his shoulders in a style that he knew Dean would call a coiffed poser, a well-trimmed beard too low to hide the strange scars on his face that ran like jagged cracks on the left-hand side. The demon wore a white suit, immaculately clean, not a spot of color.

Dean would scoff at this thing and Sam would handle it with kid gloves, feed into its delusions of power but he was mute for now, unable to truly show his disdain.

“Ah, Castiel. You were a trick to get but worth it. So big, full of power,” the demon smiled, his eyes flashing. “Must admit I was tempted when taking you. The human you were with was tasty, but we need a little time before Michael comes for you. Sorry to say, you’re just a trial run, but you won’t go to waste.”

He was curious enough about this nonsense that he would have asked what that meant as Asmodeus produced a vial. Grace, angelic grace, and a demon was holding it as though it was a glass of water. His nostrils flared as he fought against the binds again, disliking how he was laughed at.

“Learned how to not just withstand it but use it. You like my scars?” the demon asked, showing him the left side of his face, pointing at the marks. “Long ago, when I thought I knew better, I wanted to raise the Shedim for Lucifer as a gift but the fool was actually afraid of them, put them back, cast me down, left these as a parting gift.” Asmodeus tapped his face, something tight in him. “They follow me to whatever vessel I inhabit, makes me always identifiable. My want to be rid of them led me to research. You can say I learned from my past mistakes. Start small, things that wouldn’t be noticed before going for the closing round. The last was Jegudiel.”

Castiel shook his head, taking a step back though his chains allowed for little movement. His friend, one he had thought loyal to the choir vanished without a trace and this was his fate. Dragged here, drained, and then death as he was under no allusions now that this thing in front of him hadn’t formed a way to dispose of them once they were finished being of use.

“Now, now, Castiel, don’t look so angry. I would worry about you more. The things I’ve heard, about Michael, heaven, well, you’re going to fill me in on all of those.”

The enchanted threads were ripped out of his mouth, his vessel copiously bleeding along with a small amount of grace, blood spattering on the floor, and his clothes. He spat, unused to the strange taste of it in his mouth as the demon chuckled.

“Why would I give you anything?”

“You will scream, dear boy. You will wail here, but nothing can hear you in these walls and you can hear nothing.”

The warding under his feet, on his chains, etched into the stone of the walls told him enough that this was true even as he tried to inwardly contact Michael, to tell him not to come, if his brother was even considering it in his current state but he might, just for the injuries to Sam that had been inflicted that he had been able to hear.

“He will end you. You invite your doom.”

“He is weak. He’s even part human now.”

The demon was laughing as he went to put down the little vial of grace, the last remaining part of his once friend and brother, and Castiel felt rage growing within. No matter what happened to him, Michael would exterminate this filth from the universe and he took comfort in that.

“Let’s begin.”

* * *

It was not where Michael would have expected to find something like this, a quiet farm in Missouri far from people and hell, his presence hidden to most. Before now, he had simply not bothered to come here as Cain was indestructible, a courtesy that Lucifer had extended him as one more assault on creation. But now, Castiel was missing and Sam was distraught. He could hear it in the child’s prayers, as faint as they were, Sam not sleeping, blaming himself forever.

“Hello, Michael,” Cain greeted him without turning around. The Knight was standing amidst a line of hives checking on the wellbeing of these tiny creatures that worked tirelessly and died to protect each other.

It was strange to see a demon devoted to something so life-giving.

“Cain. Do you know why I have come?”

“I’m guessing it’s a missing angel problem,” the knight said as he re-secured one of his hives. “As you can see, I’m not in hell’s inner circle, anymore.”

“And why is that?”

Cain finally turned, his face calm, hair graying as it fell to his shoulders and there was amusement that Michael could pick up on, but at what, he didn’t know. The demon dusted his hands, a silver band catching the light on his finger, the power of the lock on his arm a dull pull as the bees around them filled the air with a steady hum.

“Drink? I’m always thirsty.”

Michael didn’t object, just followed the demon through the hives, the long but still maintained grass, and into the farmhouse that was well over a century old. It was dark but not gloomy inside, sunlight shifting in through the open windows and the stained glass one of a beehive as Cain moved into what he assumed was the kitchen. In the front room, past the living hive set up carefully under glass, he saw a picture that he knew was carefully maintained and he left it where it was. A woman, alive once years ago in human terms and he studied her, seeing a ring on her finger with carvings.

Otherwise, the home felt like any other he had been in. No secret arcane purpose, no hidden rooms or portals or magic outside that of warding to hide it from prying eyes. Just a room set with old furniture, not unlike all the other farmhouses scattered across the land in this area. It made little sense to him why a being like Cain would essentially nest here outside of that picture, her eyes watching him even though he knew her to be long dead.

“Here we go, have a seat, Michael,” Cain said as he entered carrying a tray with a pitcher and glasses with ice. “You strike me as being more of an ice tea person rather than hot.”

Not answering, Michael obliged him, sitting on the couch opposite of Cain as the tray was placed on the coffee table. As the demon filled the glasses, he took note of the ring, a wedding band, before accepting his glass without a word.

“Guessing you got here because you’re tired of wasting your time dissecting the rank and file of hell and would rather someone just told you an honest answer.”

“They are decidedly unhelpful,” Michael allowed, watching Cain take a drink with a smile.

“That they are. You should know that even despite your time off.” A pause, Cain watching him and Michael corrected his posture, to not look so stiff and despising being in this presence. “And I know you have questions.”

He did, but this was not the time despite knowing the demon was going to address them. He needed what he came for and it was best to get it the easy way, as even with too much talking it was still the fastest and most accurate.

Cain leaned forward, watching him, elbows on his knees as his hands clasped his glass. “Do you remember what it was like to be human? And I don’t mean as an intellectual exercise.”

Michael stared, undecided on the answer desired. “Why?”

“I think you’re sharp enough to have put the pieces together as to how I got to where I am.”

“You expect me to believe that out of the multitudes you slaughtered that one human woman was enough –“

“She loved me.”

The words sank in as Michael considered the implications. “She truly knew?”

“Yes. And I made a vow to her when she died violently that I would not lift my blade again. It has been over a century now since I threw that damned thing into the deepest pit the earth had on offer at the time.”

This was not what he was here for and Michael put his glass back on the tray, pushing down the whispers in him that spoke of something other than duty. Cain’s eyes never left him, bright in the light of the afternoon.

“If you are retired, you have no use to me.”

“I’m retired, not dead,” Cain said, a small laugh. “You are looking for where the powerful of hell have slithered off too. It’s not something that snake calling its self a king down in the pit can tell you.”

“And you can?”

“Locations no. Potential names, perhaps. I assume your thoughts have fallen to the princes.”

Michael tilted his head in answer, waiting.

“Ramiel was the one I still had some contact with since we want the same thing for different reasons. Though given the current situation and your new hobby, he has been disturbed enough to dig a hole and bury himself till all this blows over.”

“So, you’re claiming that your demonic friend can’t be responsible?”

“No, just that it’s unlikely. Dagon and Asmodeus are still around.”

Michael contemplated his options, disbelieving the audacity of this abomination to speak to him as though they were equals. They were incapable of killing each other, but that alone did not put them on even footing. It was distasteful, even more so with the mask of civility.

He wondered if Cain would remain so calm in his presence if he threw him down, buried him in the pit as he’d had to Lilith all that time ago.

“Either of those two more prone to trying to kidnap angels?”

Cain let out a small sigh. “Both are stupid enough to believe they’re immune to heaven to be that reckless. Sorry, can’t help you there, although Dagon is more powerful.”

“You remind me of this why?”

“When one has less power but wants more…” Cain’s voice trailed off but Michael understood the point.

Standing, he looked down at Cain who seemed lost in thought for a moment, the demon having set down his glass and was turning his ring on his finger. Michael did not know how honest his telling of this woman was. Part of him thought of returning her to him but perhaps it was better that Cain lives with the illusion of what she was instead of the real human who could very well one day leave him when it all became too much.

Cain was beside him, hand on his wrist, and Michael hissed, disliking being touched, at being so close to the lock that bled its corruption over everything.

“You may save him by killing him but you will lose yourself.”

Michael freed himself, moving across the room, wanting to demand an explanation for that abuse when something stirred in him. Nothing in Cain’s face showed anger or a deeper purpose, just regret and he felt a little more rage towards Lucifer for what he had done. Carved the perfect follower out of despair and sin.

“You dare lecture me?”

“Why else come to me of all people, now?”

“For information, that I –“

“Information you would have found by yourself anyways, well, once you stopped taking so much pleasure in those kills.”

“Silence!”

“Hit home,” Cain said, voice soft, accusing, and Michael pushed away memories of demons begging for eternal death under his hands.

A frantic impulse to deny even if his actions seemed seeped in the memories of his time in hell. Cain would know. It was why he had cast Lucifer back down instead of killing him, he would take pleasure from the death but little good had come from that measure of sacrifice.

The thought of Sam witnessing him as he was now made him feel impure, more so than when he’d been more himself. Sam, one of the only voices he could still yet hear.

“And you’re offering a charity counseling service now?” Dean asked, disliking how his voice sounded slow to his ears. “Free advice on how not to fuck up the universe?”

“No. Only if you fall, if you dive head deep then there’s no point to any of this,” Cain said, waving a hand at their surroundings. “Here we are, the destroyer trying to protect and the protector trying not to destroy. I’ll cry havoc with you, but I’m not the one here lying to myself that there’s a way back once the gates are fully opened.”

Dean pushed off, freeing himself from the inside of that house that sat on acres of farmland that were not farmed, just housed the bees and a demon that stood immortal in the face of an ever-changing world. He caught his breath up in the mountains, more than a thousand miles away, taking in the quiet of nature.

It was coming, that wave in him, the echoes of what he had been made to do, his original purpose before things were reshaped and other words were created and formed to mold all of this. Things humans had and experienced that something like him had found foreign.

He had thought his family knew love once but it was duty and Dean swallowed, the clean air barely affecting him as though he would never be pure, had never been because he was designed that way.

A longing opened wide in him to go see Sam but he knew he couldn’t, knew he would slip and he closed his eyes, focusing himself on finding the princes, to at least bring his brother some peace even if he would never know it.


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

Days, it had been days and he could barely sleep. Even trying the tea that was urged on him by both Bobby and Lucifer he found he could only let the world slip from him for an hour at a time. And each time he woke up he felt as if he had been wasting time with something so selfish when Cas was suffering.

He knew Cas was suffering, there was no question in his mind about that.

In the kitchen he went, going to make more coffee. It was late, middle of the night and Bobby had gone to lay down after trying again to get him to do the same. Each time his head hit the pillow, his mind thought of all the things that could happen to an angel and he couldn’t get his eyes closed. So, he occupied himself by dumping out the old grounds and getting a new filter ready. The grounds always smelled good to him, inviting, promising something better tasting.

He missed Cas’s coffee.

“Sam.”

He didn’t respond to Lucifer, remaining resolute to his coffee-making endeavor as he heard the devil shuffle more into the room. Nothing seemed to work. Gabriel had no news, Dean didn’t answer at all, and no spell work sparked to offer an answer as to what had happened.

It was his fault. If Cas had just been out by himself he would have been fine. There wouldn’t have been a giant Winchester who attracted all the hostile things in the universe.

Lucifer was next to him watching as he flipped the machine on.

“Just don’t. Don’t need to hear it.”

Satan looked down at his hands and Sam knew there was a lecture brewing in there about how humans needed things like sleep and food. Lucifer had learned first-hand how bad those things affected them when they weren’t forthcoming as part of daily living. Too little, too late and he just put some bread in the toaster before washing out his coffee cup. Didn’t need a lecture about how poorly he cared for himself. Wasn’t like he had a whole mess of things to live for in this current minute anyway.

While his things were working on being done he went back into the study. It was a whirlwind of books and papers, spell work, ingredients, common and rare, piles of things, and all their failed attempts. Lucifer felt it might be a prince and Sam had been unamused after all this time to learn just what Azazel actually was.

Not that it mattered as it didn’t make him any less dead.

“Did you come up with anything new?” he asked, knowing Lucifer had drifted after him.

Lucifer uncertain of himself was a hard thing to take.

“No. I’m still trying to find a way to combine something –“

“What good are you?”

There was little satisfaction in Lucifer falling silent, face turning down again as he rubbed his hands together in an absent gesture. A part of Sam was fracturing inside, fraying faster and faster and he knew he was breaking. All his rage, that constant anger in him that he managed on most days, even bad ones, to keep down was surfacing more forcibly

He found he was starting to care less and less as Lucifer remained silent.

“It should have been you,” Sam said, his voice quiet. “Everything Cas is going through right now you deserve times a thousand for all the shit you’ve done.”

Not the first time he had said it since Cas had gone missing. He knew Dean thought about it too, remembering the way his brother had stared at Lucifer. Some little part in him that was becoming quieter was whispering that Satan was just trying to survive but it didn’t matter.

“Sam –“

Lucifer’s voice was cut off when he just backhanded him. The force of the hit sent the man stumbling, a distant throb in his knuckles but little registered for the next few seconds. Catching the arm of the couch, Lucifer kept himself upright, still weak from illness and now the constant cycle of too little sleep and too much work. Skin pale in the light here and Sam hated that he was alive, that his cheek was showing an angry red mark across it. He hated that those eyes staring at him were resigned to this.

“You need to sleep.”

“Really? After stripping it away from me for months you’re going to lecture me about sleep? About how much humans just really need it?” He took a step forward, Lucifer remaining where he was. “You take and you take and you take, and now you want to tell me what to do?”

“Keep blaming me, Sam, if that’s what makes you able to get on with it.”

“You set it all up. All of it, from before I was even born.”

“You’re right, I did.” Lucifer was fully upright, watching him, tense. “You don’t hate me for that, though.”

“Really? You know me, now?”

“The offers were there and all of you just picked them up on the way out the door. You hate me because I was –“

His fist connected with Lucifer’s face hard, cutting off the stream of words, doing it again before Lucifer could even react fully and try to grab onto something. Again and again, that dull ache in his knuckles becoming a more persistent pain as Lucifer dropped to his knees, then all fours, panting before Sam kicked him in the stomach. Lucifer collapsed onto his side, eyes shut, hands up in defense that he barely registered as Sam rolled him onto his back, straddling his hips.

“All of this, from the very beginning, is because of you. Dean knows it, knows your just a waste. Gabriel knew it. Didn’t shed any tears while you ranted and raved at us out in the field.”

“Casting me back down.” Lucifer’s voice was hoarse, his breathing rapid and irregular, face red and already starting to swell along the left-hand side.

“You were destroying everything. Not that you cared, all those years, and you couldn’t give a shit.”

“Not why you’re mad.” Lucifer’s chest hitched and he let out a little laugh, some weird breathy sound that got caught up around them. “You’re mad because -.”

It was in his hands before he even registered that he had it out, the weight of his weapon, cold and steel at Lucifer’s head. He was surprised the devil closed his eyes, surprised to find hands clutching at his shirt and he hadn’t known when that had happened.

Lucifer didn’t want to die. A cold dread was flowing through him, Lucifer’s battered face turned partially away from him. There was rage so deep in him that he wanted to reach out his free hand and close it around that throat and squeeze. The only thing stopping him was just who it had been the last time he had decided to strangle something that shared a home with him.

“You’re mad because you’re me.”

The words were so quiet and breathy that he shouldn’t be able to hear them but did all the same, scrabbling back, away from Lucifer on the floor till his back hit the chair in here. Weapon away, his hands shaking, his own knuckles raw with a little bleeding.

_Humans don’t change, Sam._

They couldn’t heal Lucifer. What he had done, just mindlessly beat on him when he was depowered and sick and Sam fought back the bile in his throat, feeling ill.

Cradling his hand to his chest he didn’t look over as Lucifer worked at getting himself off the floor after a few minutes, feet stumbling into the kitchen. He was still shaking when he heard the water running and he hated the thought of Cas or Dean seeing him doing that. Hell, Bobby would have dragged him off but the old man was asleep, or had been, upstairs unable to stop him from his stupidity.

_Humans don’t change._

All his life he had fought to be the very thing he had become and he pushed back the sorrow over that as he heard footsteps back into the room, looking up when they stopped next to him.

Lucifer holding out a cup of coffee and a napkin with the toast he had put on an eternity ago.

Footsteps on the stairs, he didn’t know how long it had been as he took the offered items, Bobby’s boots stopping and Sam was sure he was taking in the scene.

“Kay, going to get something for the two of you and make you something better to eat, Sam.” Bobby’s voice was slow, cautious like he had expected this but still wasn’t sure. “Keep the bloodshed down a bit.”

Sam nodded, hearing Bobby walk away as Lucifer went over to where there was a chair by the main desk, slumping into it. Hands fumbling across some of the papers as reading glasses were dredged out, perched on Satan’s nose and Same felt he should find it hilarious that the devil needed glasses to do his spell work.

Cas would expect better from him and he pushed away how the angel would be looking at him if he was here right now.

“Keep praying to them. The adopted one and your blood brother. Eventually, it might help.”

Lucifer hadn’t looked over to him, head down, wounded face turned away instead of thrown at him like a beacon of just how screwed up he really was. Because, damn, he knew he was screwed up, so much so, more so than he thought Dean ever really got, but he had been about to murder a helpless human on the floor of Bobby’s study no matter what he had done.

Dean would have been ashamed of him and he tried to clear his head out, uncertain if he could find words to pray to either him or Cas now, after that.

* * *

He knew he was dying. All that held him together was the spell work etched into the stone beneath his palms. Magic older than any human language had forced a physical manifestation of one set of his wings. They lay limp, spread out and brutalized as he kneeled, almost collapsed onto the floor of this accursed place. Forbidden spell work, banished and forgotten since the Grigori and their evil had been washed from creation and Castiel did not understand how this creature knew it so intimately.

He wondered if it had been Lucifer who had taught it and if his fallen brother would even care.

Asmodeus had promised him death if he spoke of what he knew, shared the information that would reveal Michael’s fractured state, how vulnerable his brother was. It was not that he thought Michael would fall here, but rather exposure to something like this would cause his brother to lose his humanity, that endless grief he carried that sparked his compassion. To lose that would unleash a monster that would shame even Lucifer’s complicated plans of suffering and death.

Sam was praying again. It was the only thing he heard other than the demon. Sam was barely able to keep hope and Castiel knew that if the man saw the final outcome no matter his rescue, all of it would be dashed. Yet, it strengthened him in ways to resist falling, a power in him to not give over his family.

Struggling, his exposed wings twitching – light forced to feel pain – he pushed himself up, getting to his feet. He did not scream as his essence dragged against the sharp surfaces, bleeding and festering, chains rattling as they dug into raw flesh.

The demon was mixing something but had paused in order to watch, unable to hide his surprise.

“So you still stand,” Asmodeus said as he walked over, taking him in.

Castiel did not respond, staring resolutely ahead.

“See the heavenly lessons paid off on you, but don’t worry, we’ll break that pride.”

It served no purpose to respond so he did not, keeping still as he waited. His thoughts went to Sam whose voice still echoed in him. Sam, who was so afraid of what he was that he tried to force himself into what he thought others wanted. Castiel missed watching him sleep, the way his soul reached out and held onto him, wanting him close. Awake, Sam pushed everything away, fearing loss, of being seen, but in the night he could be near him, know what Sam truly wanted. Sam had faith, had always had faith, and hidden in him was goodness – what Michael had always been able to see in him even under the thrall of demons.

His muscles twitched, his grace had been bleed out of him, only his form intact as his powers had been stripped away from him. What mattered was surviving, of being whole enough to see them one last time.

Asmodeus was coming to him again and Castiel could smell fear now. This thing that had once been a soul twisted under malice would never understand, could never again.

He knew that they would come for him, and he would fight to remain himself until that hour.

* * *

Even Sam had given up trying to pray to him, the only sounds he now heard were of creation itself as he flew, slipping in through a back door into heaven to keep out of sight. It was active up here, his little brothers constantly moving, Gabriel himself was sure to be somewhere in the maze of souls that slept and dreamed of times they found happiness and even peace. So many, billions, and it comforted him that even under Raphael’s crazed rule so many found their way home, even if his brother’s end game had been more for the power of heaven than the salvation of their wards.

He passed between the bounds of each heaven in the space that was nothing that only an archangel was allowed to tread. Only they had places that were outside of what the humans generated with the exception of The Garden that forever thrived in the center.

Hers was the one he found first.

A part of him had feared even after he had awoken to who he really was that she had been obliterated by protecting him and Sam in that house, or worse, dragged to hell. But she was whole and here and Michael watched his human mother caught in one of her happiest memories, the day Sam was born. Still, in the hospital bed and gown, she was softly singing as Sam fed, his own young form curled up against her side and asleep. He remembered that day, having been anxious and terrified and he smiled a little knowing that he’d had so much excitement that he eventually became exhausted from joy.

Dean slipped away from her to find what he had come here for.

Dad’s was different and Dean frowned a little, not recognizing it at first as John was passed out under his coat on the couch, a bottle on the end table. It was a small cabin, somewhere out in the woods which could be many places and he tried to flip through his own memories as to why this had been a happy place for Dad outside of him and Sam wasn’t visible.

A noise and he watched, as his eight-year-old self carrying a plate of pancakes, Sam clutching a card with too much glitter and bright markers. He remembered now. A hunt that took them out of the way and it was going to be Dad’s birthday. Even that young, he had known that something was upsetting the old man more than usual, Dad hadn’t begun the habit of downing a lot of whiskey until much later in his life. To this day he wasn’t sure what they had been hunting out here, only that Dad had eventually found a way to kill it and it had been taking kids.

So, in his infinite wisdom, knowing Dad’s birthday was about to happen, he had pilfered a pancake mix from the store during a supply run and had gotten up early, Sammy in tow. Both of them had been tired, staying up to make that card and he remembered what that damn thing said because Sam insisted that people said that to each other and the kid knew his letters enough to have an idea if it was in there.

He watched his kid self-waking up dad who probably was more awake than asleep at this point, as he remembered getting a chair in the kitchen to stand on when he had made those, Sam being the overseer and worrier of the whole operation.

How long had Dad laid out here half-awake wondering what the hell they were doing?

“Dean?” Dad’s voice was confused, still laced with the whiskey he was using to get himself to sleep, and Dean now didn’t miss all the obsessive maps and notes clogging up the free surfaces of the rickety kitchen table or end tables out here.

“Happy birthday,” his young self whispered, Sam half hiding behind him because it was a time when Sam was actually smaller. “We made you breakfast.”

“And a card.”

“You did, huh?”

Dean smiled a little as Dad hauled himself up, Sam’s tone even at that young age had been huffy. And he knew why, Sam couldn’t really help with the breakfast and it had been Dean’s big idea. The card was mainly from Sam, hence the glitter and the highly excitable marker all over it because his brother, even at that age, had observed they didn’t have a lot of joy and had wanted to give that.

“How’d you make these?”

Dad’s voice may have still been sleepy but Dean stiffened for the next part. Dad had been pissed that he had stolen that little forty-cent mix and –

That wasn’t it. He watched, confused because he remembered that Dad hadn’t been able to look at him even though they’d had to steal before. It wasn’t anger that made Dad look away and Dean stepped closer.

“Let me see that card, Sam,” Dad was saying, having righted himself on the couch, the pancake plate on his lap. Dean didn’t miss how worn he looked, even back then when he had some youth still in him, his eyes brighter than they should be. “Here,” dad said, patting the couch on each side of him, “sit.”

He watched as both he and Sam did, one on each side with Sam getting an assist, as Dad read the card with Sam's doodles and Dean didn’t remember this part at all. He remembered Dad being upset and Bobby coming later in the day to take them back to his house and he thought he had fucked up, made Dad not want him around.

“I love you two, too.”

It was so soft and he didn’t understand. He knew this was the soul of John Winchester, could see the mars from hell in it and Michael reached out to him, knowing that here a soul’s memories wouldn’t, couldn’t lie.

“Dean?”

Dad’s staring at him and the younger versions of him and Sam, along with their gifts, were gone. Instead, it was just John, looking up at him, eyes clearing as he began to awaken more and if he was smart, he would just send him back to sleep.

“Uh, heya,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to think of how to handle the next thirty seconds to not make this worse.

“I’m dead. I remember dying, that field with you after –“ Dad was up, coming forward, looking panicked.

“Alive. I’m alive. Just…visiting.”

The look he got at that was less than impressed with that answer, but he fumbled as he realized Dad remembered hell, he remembered everything far clearer up here than he would if he was still flesh and bone on earth. The mortal body had a way of softening the edges of a finite life, ease the burden so it wasn’t a long continuous line.

“Really. Just making sure you and mom made –“

“She’s here?”

“Just right down the way,” he said, glad Dad had stopped in his tracks because he needed John to not touch him. It was bad enough that Dad thought he had just spirit walked on up here, being up here bodily was a whole other level of explanation. “She’s remembering the day Sam was born.”

The line of tension that made up his father loosened a little, the man leaning against the end table as if that was real enough to support anything. Dean didn’t know how much to say as the terrible realization that Dad had known that mom had made a deal. He may not have known it was to save him in order for Azazel to have access to Sam but she still died ten years to the day after her parents in that supposed home invasion.

Dad was watching him and Dean knew he had given the game away.

“She was a hunter,” Dean said, shrugging his shoulders.

“And you helped me buy that car.” There was something dawning in those eyes and Dean took another step back, cursing himself that he hadn’t thought of that little hiccup in the timeline, his mind-whammy apparently at least half worn off. “You were there, I bought you coffee since I thought you were on drugs and you talked me into that car. How? How the hell did you get there?”

“Handsy angels with a point to prove.” He ran a hand through his hair, uncertain of how much to share and not missing how wide Dad’s eyes had gotten. “Wanted to show me that some things were fated or destined or what-the-hell-ever.”

His laugh was bitter, he knew it, knew it would be before it even left him and Dad’s closer.

“You met them, the angels? Did Sam, did hell –“

“No, he’s fine. At Bobby’s right now.” _Nursing Satan back to health,_ his mind added but he managed to keep the words inside him as something clicked over in his brain. “Did you know what was going on? Cause gotta say, you’re not looking super surprised angels exist.”

“Dean, I – I wasn’t sure. A lot was rumors, pieced together lore and prophecies and demons lie. They always lie –“

“But they really wanted Sam.” A lump was in his throat and he wanted to fly, get out of here from this terrible confession that Dad had a clue, could’ve told him, even if he didn’t buy it, thought the old man had gone around the bend. “Why you had to kill Azazel so bad at the end, wasn’t it?”

“We did, though. We got through it –“

“I was already sold!”

Dean pressed the back of his hand to his mouth as he turned and walked away towards the crappy kitchen, staring out the grime smeared window at the snow just starting to fall outside. Silence between them and he should just put his father back to sleep, enough damage had been done. It wasn’t important anymore but he leaned against the sink, wanting to at least see this part out since he had stayed.

“Yellow eyes, he snapped up all the kids like Sam and dragged them off, set them up in a battle royale. Got there seconds too late, died in my arms.”

He cleared his throat, hearing his name as he shook his head until he felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned.

“You have a body,” John whispered and Dean was stunned to realize Dad had started to cry. “How do you have a body here?”

Staring up at the rafters dressed with cobwebs and dust, Dean closed his eyes. He should run, he should just go but there was no longer anywhere left for him to go.

“I’m Dean,” he whispered as he opened his wings, allowing his grace that was still whole to show.

The way Dad skittered back until he hit the wall, eyes wide was as strangely satisfying as it was sickening.

“Who – who –“

“Who am I? Hell if I know anymore, cause don’t feel like Dean or Michael,” Michael said, walking forward a bit, watching Dad look for the exits as if he could escape properly into the mainland of heaven. “Let me guess, the part you had said that Satan wanted Sammy and Michael wanted me and there was going to be some big old battle on earth and you, at least, had some kind of fortitude to not want that.”

“Bloodline,” John got out and Michael smiled a little.

“Yes, you are mine, Mary’s is Lucifer’s and here we are, all the machinations and prophecies except it got stalled out along the way.”

“And Dean?”

Michael shook his head, amazed that Dad still seemed laser-focused on him after all that time he felt like he was just a piece of furniture.

“They asked me, Sam and Bobby, why Father created me. Told them, I don’t know, which was the truth. Doesn’t matter really, just that I tended to everything. And when Lucifer pulled his stunt, I had to tend to that too, couldn’t save him so got to lock him up for safe-keeping till the proper killing time rolled along. After that –“

His voice was stuck, the horrible pieces that he could just faintly touch that showed him enough to know he didn’t want to know more. Some movement, Dad had unstuck himself from the wall but instead of running screaming out the door he was coming closer, wary as all hell, but still listening.

“I couldn’t have death,” he said, voice soft now, “as I still had my Lucifer problem. So instead, I was separated from my grace and reborn as your firstborn son, where I got to live the whole saga all over and fail once again.”

“Dean.” Dad’s voice was hesitant like he wasn’t quite sure he had the right name but felt he needed to use it all the same. “I thought you said you had –“

“Not that. Luci’s not a threat, currently a disgruntled human.” He swallowed, not sure if he could but he might as well tell. Everything else in the galaxy up and knew what St. Michael the Archangel had done to start the big showdown and he found he couldn’t look at Dad anymore. “Sam wasn’t the problem, I was.”

“You?”

“I started the ball rolling, broke in hell, broke the first seal. It was me that was the threat, made Sammy break bad till he managed to find his way home. Go ahead and say it.”

“Say what?”

“Should have been stronger, better. Shouldn’t have done it.”

“You were in hell.”

“Didn’t make you break.”

“I –“ John just stopped and Dean finally looked over, taken off guard by the fact that Dad’s face was a mess of confusion and sorrow at this point. “You can tell, with what you are, if I lie to you, right?”

He opened and closed his mouth, unsure of where this was going when Dad took his hand, placed it on his chest where his heart would be if he was still living. Dean could feel the agony of hell locked up in there, the deep grooves carved in there and he knew what Dad was trying to say.

“When they didn’t get what they wanted after it happened, they kept me separated from the rest as a bargaining chip because they were going after you next. It’s why I was free enough to escape, it’s why I fought to get to you and Sam.”

Shaking, Dean walked a few paces to the wall, leaning against it before sliding down as he felt everything in him give out. Any rage he’d had was gone, only an endless emptiness, and he didn’t know how to get up anymore as Dad crouched down beside him.

“Why this place?” he asked because it had to be asked as to him this wasn’t a good memory to have cycled through.

John sighed and sat, leaning up against the wall with him. “Do you remember celebrating my birthday at all outside of this? You’d tell me ‘happy birthday’ but this, you did this with Sam just because you loved me.”

Dad’s voice choked and he couldn’t look up, staring at the floor.

“I meant what I told you that day. Never meant to leave you like that, never meant to have you dying and I just thought if I could stop it, you and Sam would be okay. What I’ve put you through -”

He shook his head but Dad had moved, cupping the back of his neck, bringing him close. All his mind could supply him with was that he was doing what he had been trained to do in hell on earth, that horrible realization that Alastair was laughing in the void that dead demons slumber in.

“Dean.”

There had been so many times that he had thought he would punch his father in the face if he ever saw him again after yellow-eyes, demand to know why it was him, only him, left with the bag, why it was his sole responsibility.

Sitting next to his father’s soul, all he felt was anguish and grief. All he did was fail: Sam, Cas, Dad, Gabriel. He was the one in the end who couldn’t hold it together.

Dad was getting him to come closer and Dean allowed it, feeling what hell had done, feeling what Dad had done to himself. He breathed in, Dad still smelled like he always did, whiskey and aftershave and gun-oil, the way Baby did after all this time and he slept on the front seat sometimes waking up sure Dad would still be with him.

Dad was whispering to him, about how he was a good boy and all he could feel was the weight of hell around his neck, the feeling of his own blade cutting away at his essence.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay.”

He broke in his father’s arms, ugly and loud, as Dad stroked his hair, realizing he could hear the choir with Gabriel’s voice calling for him.


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

They were close. Sam kept reminding himself of this fact even though the final piece needed was the one he was most uncertain of. With just his blood they got something, a little flare that at least confirmed their suspicion but it was Dean that would have to be mixed in. He was the one Cas had fished out of hell and Sam was truly afraid with how silent everything had been that his brother really was about to burn down everything.

He tried not to think about the news of what Dean had been up to lately, the quiet reports from Gabriel that his brother had gone on a torturing kick with hell’s residents on the top of his list. The idea from Cas’s confession in the car about Dean’s behavior before all this mess plagued him, sliding into that line of thinking whenever he saw Lucifer now instead of only dwelling on where Cas was.

Lucifer’s face was a mass of red flowing into dark and violent colors and Sam wanted to say something towards that but didn’t know where to begin. At least the devil’s left eye could open now, puffy with the swelling still, and he knew there was pain that Lucifer wasn’t talking about.

So, they set out the bowls atop the cloth with all the ancient etchings that would direct this convoluted spell that had been thrown together after they carved up three others. The idea of finding Cas, getting him home, was a constant hum in him. Close, they were close and it would be over soon.

He made himself push all thoughts of failure straight out of his mind.

“Any word on the heavenly assist?” Bobby asked as they finished. “Or just that vague not answer the shifty one gave.”

Sam snorted a little, because, yeah, shifty was Gabriel’s middle name. “Not yet.”

“Not like anything here is going to expire.” It was almost like chiding and Sam bristled under Lucifer’s tone until the devil coughed a little, drinking some water to head off a full-blown fit.

Probably shouldn’t wail on Satan until after he’d gotten over his first almost deadly illness, Sam thought to himself, attempting to suffocate any dread that Cas himself might have an expiration date.

The look Bobby gave the devil did cheer him up a bit.

Before he could think of something else to talk about so they weren’t all standing around awkwardly, a soft sigh of wing beats filled the air.

Dean. Both archangels were there he but could barely see Gabriel as his whole focus was driven full force onto his brother. Dean had changed, a button-up deep brown shirt with a darker brown leather jacket, jeans, boots and just looking calm. Not cold or distant or displaying anything else he would associate with an angel but just all Dean looking happy to see him.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Sam. Sorry long time no see.”

His brother was coming over and Sam just wrapped his arms around him when he was even marginally close enough, relieved that Dean let him, then returned it. All the secret fears that his brother might just up and kill him were evaporating slowly as Dean felt alive, seemed whole in the here and now.

Stepping back, Dean clasped a hand on Bobby’s shoulder who nodded, looking relieved himself, before Dean’s attention fell to Lucifer.

To Satan’s credit, he turned his injured face away, not saying that Sam had just up and whooped him into the ground while he was still sick and everything. A few steps, Lucifer trying to back up without giving in to the fear to just run because Sam was fully aware Gabriel was here, watching them, and none of the humans were going to get out if it wasn’t wanted.

“Let me see,” Dean was saying to an increasingly panicked Lucifer whose breaths came faster and faster. “Lucifer, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

At that tone, Lucifer finally stopped trying to find a way out and allowed Dean to raise his head, Dean taking in the extensive mess of bruising and pain.

“Gonna say you deserve this for something you did at some point,” Dean said, running fingers lightly over the wound patterns. “You been giving them trouble?”

“No, Michael.”

Sam shuffled at the strange unspoken plea in Lucifer’s voice, uncomfortable because outside of occasional whining, Lucifer had been fine. Which was a strange thing to say with Satan deciding to move in, human or not.

Lucifer’s eyes slipped closed, he let out a small, lost sound and Sam realized that Dean was healing his face, probably all of him, the constant reminder of everything fading into just normal skin, the exhaustion that plagued him sliding away.

A glance at Gabriel told him that the angel was just as shocked as he was at this little turn of events.

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“I enjoy being fed,” Lucifer responded, flippant, but there was something else under all that, Sam not missing how those eyes went to him as Dean stepped back.

“Alright, enough of that. Is this the plan here?”

Dean had gone to the table, picking up the pages of scrawl they had come up with, signaling for Gabriel to come, the former trickster muttering to himself. Sam thought Gabriel was complaining of lack of attention, which, he felt, would be normal for a being used to everyone focused on him by his own doing.

“Should work,” Gabriel said. “I’ll chant if you want to do the bloodletting.”

It was dizzying how fast this was, Dean waving him over and Sam coming, looking at Bobby who was watching intently but the old man didn’t look like he felt anything was off. Or rather, was more off than normal. So, it was Gabriel on one side, him and Dean on the other, knife in his brother’s hand, and he had a momentary thought of Dean just plunging it into him and he didn’t miss the little frown Dean got.

Sam really disliked mind-reading relatives, especially when it was his existence that got one of the family members of said relatives kidnapped. Or angel-napped, or whatever you would call an angel that had been absconded with.

“Ready there, Sam?” Gabriel was looking at him with a faint hint of amusement and Sam doubly cursed the lack of privacy, getting why his brother had always harped about it for so long.

“Yeah.”

He applauded himself for shaving off the little remark he wanted to make, didn’t need to start a low-key fight here with Cas still trapped somewhere.

Bobby and Lucifer were by them as Gabriel started the chant, Dean cutting his own hand for blood before taking his. He winced a little as he felt the blade slice, his hand held out over the bowl that was filled with things barely pronounceable and trying not to think about the blood factor. He was surprised to feel warmth bloom in him as all the pain floated away, his once stiff fingers earned from beating on Lucifer normal again and he glanced at Dean.

A spark, a bright flame, and then nothing, both archangels watching, and Sam wanted to shake at least one to spit out if this had worked.

“Need a plan now –“

“It worked?”

He couldn’t help but cut Dean off, needing to know if they had something to go on.

“Got a location, Sam,” Dean told him, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him, or maybe to keep him from just running out the door to get there. “Don’t want to just burst right in there, just yet.”

“Guessing from the level of power already used,” Bobby said, watching them, fingers drumming on the table. “Don’t need any more angels in the flypaper.”

“Thank you for that.” Gabriel managed to look annoyed, shaking his head. “Thinking we need a diversion.”

Sam followed his gaze, noticing Dean did too, finding his eyes falling on an increasingly uncomfortable Lucifer.

“Do you want to keep being useful?” Dean asked him.

“If I die, Michael, I swear I will find a way to haunt you.”

“Wouldn’t expect less.”

* * *

On his knees again, pain past breaking, he looked up at the noise and was startled to see Lucifer, radiant and whole in the room with them. The demon was too, half panicked in his movements as he rapidly stepped back under Lucifer’s cold gaze.

“Master, you’re – you’re – “

“Very much here, yes.” Lucifer waved a bored hand, Asmodeus not looking up. “I see you’ve been busy.”

Castiel had many questions over this but kept still, staring up as his fallen brother look him over. A flash of something in those eyes that Castiel wanted to call rage but Lucifer kept his temper, not showing as though he felt anything towards him.

“I thought you had been lost.”

“Then you were foolish,” was Lucifer’s response, his withering look kept the demon in check, eyes down, as Lucifer began to walk. “Tell me of this little project you have.”

“I desired –“ the demon stopped himself, trying to find words and Castiel knew he did not want to admit that this had begun as an attempt to free himself of the marks from Lucifer’s punishment.

It was strange to agree with his fallen brother over something, yet this demon was foolish.

“Yes, yes, you desire. Got that part. Keep it moving.”

Cold looks from Lucifer kept the demon’s eyes constantly staring at the floor and Castiel noticed that Lucifer was up to something in his walking, that he was leaving something that the demon was too cowed to realize.

“I merely wished to better myself for you.”

Lucifer let out a sound Castiel thought almost undignified, disbelieving in so many ways, Asmodeus growing more uneasy.

“Let’s pretend that’s the truth. What’s all this?”

“I found a way to drain them, to make their power useful.”

“I see.”

Lucifer was behind him now, Castiel sensing he was crouched down and he did not know if it was to place what he needed to, or if it was to look more closely at his wounds. Seeing the demon begin to look up, he acted as though Lucifer had put him into great pain, those yellow eyes riveted on him and he knew the demon would not be able to resist the pleasure gotten from his suffering.

“And this great power you’ve been harnessing, you plan what with it?” Lucifer asked after a minute, having moved again to the far side of the room from the sound of his voice but Castiel did not dare look in case it drew the wrong attention.

“To free you.”

“Of course you were. Can’t say I’ll be sorry to see you go.”

Before the demon could answer Michael was there, hand around the thing’s neck, Gabriel beside him, the feel of his brother’s warmth a comfort he had feared he would never feel again. And Michael – he was whole, his light radiant here as he watched his oldest brother open his wings, his grace burning the twisted creature far past ashes and he felt relief settling in him that none of his brothers would be put through this pain again.

“Cas.”

It was hard to see him look like that, Michael struggling, the depth of sorrow for his suffering, and Castiel wanted to tell him it was alright but knew it was a lie.

Gabriel was standing now and the two walked a little, taking in the symbols that decorated this room, Lucifer crouching in front of him, looking again like a human. It must have been an illusion cast on him, most likely Gabriel due to his skill at such a thing to slip Lucifer in to disarm the room to take the demon down in one swift course. Clever as it was cruel and Castiel was tempted to give his fallen brother a thank you for risking his own life, even if it has most likely been under pressure.

“You dying is going to make him moody,” Lucifer told him, amazingly sounding as though he was the one wounded party and Castiel sensed there was more to this but kept it to himself.

“It’s not as though I can help such a thing.”

“Don’t think he’s going to see it that way.”

“Then help him.”

Lucifer let out a low laugh at the sharp tone used. “You missed the part where he tenderized my face with his fists.”

Castiel frowned at this news, wondering if his brother was exaggerating as he looked fine and even in his fraying state he knew not that much time had passed. A glance over to where the archangels stood arguing between themselves and Castiel was stunned, noticing at last that Lucifer did not carry any signs of his long illness either now.

“Learn to care about something outside of yourself, Lucifer.”

There was a look as though Lucifer planned to argue with that, and Castiel knew at one point, long ago, Lucifer had, but fell silent as the archangels returned.

“We can move you somewhere better for this, Cas.” Michael’s voice was gentle. “It doesn’t have to be here.”

“Sam.”

“Cassie, he’s not going to understand –“ Gabriel stopped, looking at him, face tight in a way that was unbecoming of him.

“Get him.”

A hesitation, then Gabriel was gone at Michael’s command, taking Lucifer with him as Michael came forward, kneeling, not disturbed by the blood that marred the floor all around him.

“He wanted you, to do this to you.”

“I’m so sorry, Cas.” Michael’s voice broke, Castiel leaning into his touch, his brother’s eyes an endless sea of grief that had no promised end in sight.

All this time to think about what he wished to say when he knew the obvious and it almost left him at seeing his brother so distraught, knowing he was blaming himself. Castiel wanted to give idle words of hope that did not exist anymore.

“I died already,” he said, watching that grief deepen. “I was given borrowed time and I do not regret it.”

“Cas, man, don’t –“

“I may not have known your true name when I first found your soul in hell, but your essence was enough. Who you are, I would choose to do it all again to see you like you are. This thing would have always sought you out, it is not your fault.”

Michael leaned forward, forehead touching his own. His hands bogged down in chains and his ebbing strength yet he managed to reach out, taking his brother’s hand.

“Little brother,” Michael whispered to him, his grace filling him with comfort even if it could no longer heal the damage of a form forever fractured.

He wished he could speak of fair, convince Michael that this was fair, but it was not as Gabriel arrived with Sam, Michael releasing him some.

The child’s eyes were horrified. Nothing Gabriel said would have prepared him for this and Castiel himself had only seen a handful of angels that were in states close to his since his creation, each one a memory seared into him at their pain. It was not a vision he wanted Sam to have of him but he had learned that leaving in silence did not help, Sam’s own regrets still great of never saying goodbye to his brother before the hounds of hell tore that flesh to nothing.

Michael was helping Sam, getting him past the pure shock, the child coming to him, eyes wide, tears present yet most likely not felt at this time.

“You shouldn’t have those out,” Sam said, voice weak, trying for any words to ease this.

“I heard you, Sam,” he said when the man was close to him, where Michael had been a moment before. Castiel knew both his brothers had their eyes on him now. “Any of them would tell you that is impossible but I heard you. I’ve been waiting to see you.”

The agony in him was so strong that it felt like he would be torn apart simply since he insisted on still existing but he pushed it back for a little longer. Sam looked like he wanted to touch him but was afraid, eyes all over him, all the wounds, his body rendered close to a human and his clothing long since discarded as it had been in the way of a blade.

All those long hours were he listened to Sam, thinking of the words he wanted now were not forgotten as he found some final strength.

“You can touch me,” he said, watching the caution used to do so, knowing that he looked like only pain. “He wanted to strip me of everything, have me tell of you and our family all in the name of power yet I heard you, my one comfort through all of this.”

Sam looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but Castiel already knew where the man’s mind was – it was on the idea that all he loved was always killed horrifically in front of him again and again. That he was the one responsible for all the devastation that his life was filled with.

“I want you to live and to pray to me, Sam.”

Michael was staring at him with a look that he would call incredulous and Sam just looked lost.

“You’ll be dead,” Sam got out, his eyes dropping.

“If I can hear you in this place of utter desecration where too many of my brothers have died before me, then I have faith that I will always hear you.”

It was the truth, it was the faith he had left, no matter how irrational it may be to others. It was a faith borne in these walls and he refused to let it die here with him.

Sam was shaking his head, his control slipping as it gave in to the reality in front of him and Castiel took his hand.

“Isn’t – can’t we –,” Sam’s voice growing frantic, unwilling to let go, Gabriel laying a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Kiddo, he’s in agony. Every second is like dying.”

Despite his binds, he got Sam to come forward more, Michael getting him to place his head against his shoulder, arm around him, as Sam began to be overcome with grief. Gabriel’s hand on his face and he looked up for a moment, his once lost brother’s face pained.

“Stubborn little angel,” Gabriel murmured, something fond in his tone that Castiel had finally become skilled enough to pick up on.

“Pray good things to me, Sam,” he whispered to the man who shook his head, fingers pressing into him.

Michael moved closer, expanding his form to be able to hold both him and Sam as Gabriel went behind, careful hands upon his wings.

“This will be quick,” Michael said.

They were waiting and he let his eyes close, nodding before Michael shattered his bindings.

He would have cried out from the pain if the air around him hadn’t been so wondrous to finally feel. They were outside in the sunlight, free, finally free, and he wrapped his arms around Sam, feeling himself unwind faster and faster now. Whether it was just outside that place or ten thousand miles away, was no concern to him, as he tilted his head up, taking in the smells of earth one last time.

With his family beside him, he felt peace as death came.


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

Cas had died without sound.

That much he knew. There had been no hands covering his ears, and he had been able to hear despite all the light that had made him bury his head against borrowed skin. But no sound. It hadn’t changed the fact that he felt deaf since that moment, any noise seemed distant as if he was caught in limbo

Those terrible shadows across the ground that marked what Cas had been. Every time he closed his eyes he remembered what they had looked like, festering with blood and pus, fluids he had never seen, spasmodic twitching in them but it told him enough that Cas had been beautiful. That these creatures, whatever they looked like, were light reflecting light in an endless array.

If he had seen them at any other time, he knew he would have been lost for hours just staring at them.

It had taken him a while to let go, his brother and Gabriel healing the flesh so that at least it gave the illusion of some kind of peace as they waited for him to piece himself back together. Not that it was going to happen – Cas had been the closest thing to an actual friend that he’d had in his life for so long, even before Jess who may have loved him for the person she lived with but not the person he was.

All the words he should have said floated in his head, mocking him.

They wrapped up the body in cloth that one of the angels had gotten from somewhere, soft white that was pure, like the angel had been. There was an unrelenting part of him that wanted to insist this wasn’t happening tried to protest they shouldn’t wrap him too tight when Dean covered Cas’s face.

“Okay, Sammy.”

It was Dean, the tone of his voice reminding him of when they had been kids, so young and he had been upset over something, afraid of his family leaving and never coming back for him. Gabriel offered him a hand and he finally got up, legs unsteady over not being used in hours as he’d worked on getting his shit together and not break down every five seconds. Night was coming and they should leave this field that was the last testament to what Castiel had been, those black marks looking as though they were carved into the earth.

Dean picked up the body and he found himself in Bobby’s study. He felt like vomiting as the old man and Lucifer rose to meet them.

“Wasn’t sure what you wanted to do,” Bobby told Dean, motioning towards the back door. “We have enough if you want a hunter send-off.”

Dean nodded. “That’s fine, Bobby. Thank you.”

“I need to check in with the rest to make sure I don’t have war field up there. Call me when you’re ready.”

Gabriel looked at him. Sam wanted to call it concern, wasn’t sure he could call it anything other than what he wanted to see at this point because it felt like he was floating and all of this would be gone. Then the archangel was gone to go mop up the mess and the rest were heading towards the backdoor, Lucifer looking back at him, face unreadable.

“I’ll be out in a few.”

Once out of sight, he found Bobby’s whiskey, poured himself a shot, and downed it in one take, pouring another on its heels. Not that drinking himself stupid would help with feeling grounded, he just couldn’t take the vibration in him, that pulse of his failure. All of this work, all of this faith, and it got him a dead friend who suffered to the end.

Sitting in Bobby’s chair, surveying the study that was still half torn up from all the previous attempts, he willed himself to drink slower. A part of him wanted to protest even burning the body, that part of him that had refused to bury Dean because he’d find a way.

“Sam.”

He looked up, seeing Dean standing there and he knew it had been a while, a few whiskeys down and time was flowing without him feeling every single second that threatened to make this more real.

He wanted to tell his brother that they didn’t have to do all this right now even though he was partially cognizant that a good deal more time had passed than he was aware of.

He wanted to tell Dean they didn’t have to do this at all.

“It’s time.”

“For you. Sorry, not on a schedule here.” The words were out before he could stop them, regretting them instantly.

“If we don’t, then there’ll be some other excuse later on, then more later on. Just pushing it out isn’t going to make it go away.”

Dean had moved to the desk and Sam just stood, surprised he felt as stable as he did with all the booze in him, even though he knew his face was flushed.

“Don’t, okay? Do what you want to do.”

“Sam.”

He shook his head, shuffling around the desk, wondering how far he could get if he just started walking right now if he could get to a point where he wouldn’t be able to see the smoke. It took so much to swallow the nasty things he wanted to say to his brother, things he knew he would regret because a part of him wanted to blame this on Dean. Dean hadn’t been here, hadn’t been himself and Sam wondered what the hell had gone down to get his brother here as good as he was right now.

“I talked to dad.”

Dean’s statement seemed like a declaration instead of an out of the blue confession and Sam blinked, his grief pushed away in disbelief.

“In heaven,” Sam said, slow on the uptake here and got a small smile in return, relief flooding into him no matter how pissed off he still was at that man. “And mom?”

“She’s up there, too. Saw one of hers, the day you were born. Didn’t wake her up.”

Dean was still watching him and Sam felt caged like a storm was coming to drag him under. John, Dad, the man who got them to this place until he had found out so much more was happening, that they were just cogs in a wheel turning away to erase everything till they weren’t anymore.

He wanted to know just what Dean was up there talking about but he didn’t want to ask. His brother, being the mind-reading creeper that he was just sighed.

“Everything, Sam. I told him everything.”

He backed away then, managing to avoid tripping, bile in the back of his throat as he thought of Ruby, of what Dad would say to that. Disgust, all he felt was disgust and he couldn’t even be angry because it was his fault in the end. He was the one who had done all that and he missed Dean coming forward until his brother grabbed his shoulder.

What he had done was forgivable. There were so many ways to rationalize it, tell himself that it was the only way out until he was lying awake and alone in the night without Dean and not understanding how his brother could even look at him, let alone save him from hell.

And now Cas was dead because the angel had made the mistake of just being around him.

“Why would you do that?”

“He’s proud of you,” Dean said.

Shaking, he managed to wrench free of Dean’s grip, eyes searching for a way out, escape to somewhere else where he could focus on anything that wasn’t this.

“Sam, he –“

“You had no right to tell him,” he hissed back, trying to get into the main hall, closer to the front door.

“It affected me too. Wasn’t like you did all that shit in some vacuum that only involved a few demons and your immortal soul.”

Dean was angry, Sam could sense it, see the angel in him and he was afraid, afraid his brother might just kill because Michael might still want to off Lucifer and he was only a few degrees removed from that no matter what pretty words they liked to say.

He was made to be the perfect vessel, after all.

“You wrap yourself up in so many walls, Sam, segment all those pieces of yourself that you think the world wouldn’t like or you can’t handle and shove them away because you’re afraid that just you isn’t enough. Think that if you give us the right image that we’ll stay with you, won’t take off, think you're strong instead of weak. You haven’t gotten it through your thick skull that we already know you no matter how much you try to hide. We wouldn’t be here if we thought you were evil or just saw you as that poison dripped into you. But I knew you were always worth saving long before I ever carried you out of that house.”

He couldn’t move anymore and it was Michael coming forward, watching him, and Sam wondered what his brother had seen in his endless years before the universe.

“I didn’t realize you couldn’t be close to anyone, Sammy,” Michael continued, eyes sad at just how broken he really was, was stripped open in front of him. “I thought, when I was just human, that it was a me problem, but it started long before that, before Jess. I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Don’t.”

It was all he could get out as Michael stepped closer, hand cupping his face and he wanted to laugh at the weirdness of it.

“You need to let go. His death isn’t on you, it’s on the pile of ash that used to call itself a prince. He wanted you to live, not tie yourself up more in that internal maze you’ve been racing and trapped in for all these years.”

That wasn’t something he could do, even promise, Dean, watching him.

“Right now, I have a fallen brother who has gotten himself his own soul and the person he is watching has been way too damn focused on, is you. I want you both to come home when it’s time.”

“Dean, I –,“ he couldn’t talk and he closed his eyes.

“Let go, Sam. Honor him.”

Dean drew back from him and he decided all angels had that stare, the one that made it feel as if they were seeing every inch of your soul and weighing it. Fingers brushed his cheek and he knew he was crying. Everything was just collapsing and he would never get back to even remotely normal again.

Dean took his arm, and he allowed himself to be lead through the study, still building walls up and he felt guilty over that.

“How’d Dad take you being an archangel?” he asked, his voice hoarse as Dean chuckled, swinging the back door open.

“Well, he didn’t piss himself and still talked to me.”

A part of him wondered if his brother had yelled as they walked down the stairs, the outside air heavy with humidly since it seemed to be midday here. He felt his brother deserved to yell after everything, and he pushed back the idea that it had always been Dean who had been there and kept being there.

This was Dean’s little brother and the one who had pulled him from hell, died for him, after all, that they were about to send off.

His arm was squeezed as they walked out, Sam not commenting on how it felt to be little again, grateful that Dean was the one with more control right now. Gabriel had returned, standing next to Bobby and Lucifer, the pyre set up with Cas’ body wrapped neatly laid out on it.

No one said anything as Dean let go of him and he went forward, putting a hand on that wrapped shoulder, remembering Castiel who sat with him when he moped and got too caught up in his own crap.

There were words he wanted to say but wasn’t ready to. Maybe someday, after he found the strength to keep praying to Cas, he’d be able to but not right now. He couldn’t keep going as he had been, it wasn’t working and he wanted to live enough to have something interesting to pray because he didn’t want to take the chance that Cas had been right and no matter what happened would always be able to hear him.

The last thing he wanted was an angel disappointed in him because he had boring prayers.

The others came forward, silent, to help him light the pyre, Dean putting an arm around him, and he found some resolve in himself that he was okay. At least for the next few moments, he was okay, and he’d take it from there.

* * *

“Call me unimpressed with your leadership skills.”

Crowley let out a low sound as Dean leaned back in the booth. It was strange to meet here, surrounded by mortals in a bar of all places that at least had pretty good fries. He toyed with the idea of bringing some back to Luci. His brother had become cautious about food, eyeing everything as though it was about to kill him after an unfortunate incident he had only just found out about involving too much salt. He’d at least like Lucifer to eat more than his carefully selected produce since his brother had become convinced salt was not only in everything else but also fatal.

A man needed more than kumquats and celery.

So, here they sat in booths made of deep red vinyl that looked nicer than they actually were due to the low lighting that added to the seedy vibe of the place. Leave it to a demon to pick out all the questionable joints, even if said demon liked to dress in silk suits as if it would hide his twisted face.

“You expect me to keep the princes in check?”

“No, I expect you to be paying enough attention to supply good info when one goes off the rails,” Dean answered, taking a drink of whiskey, studying the thing in front of him. “I can always find someone else to fill the seat if you prove deficient.”

“You have the added bonus of knowing me.”

Dean smiled, enjoying how even the blackened soul squirmed. “Is that really a bonus?”

“Look, alright, it was bad all around,” Crowley said, hands up. “I brought a present that you might enjoy.”

Dean made a motion and Crowley drug out a box that was infinitely familiar though he hadn’t seen it recently. Waving a hand to make eyes blind to the table, he opened it, seeing The Colt with its ammo tucked away nice and neat against blue velvet.

“How –“

“Enterprising demons go back to lost battles to see what was left behind. Found this little gem. And with the change in family dynamics, wanted to keep it as a peace offering, so to speak.”

Dean reached for it, raising an eyebrow as the demon pulled back the box.

“One condition. You don’t give it to your kill-happy brother right now. Don’t need my forces thinned just because they’re doing their jobs.”

“You mean infected innocent souls?”

“No, the job that’s deal-making.”

“Still has the downside of infecting innocent souls.”

“Not anymore,” Crowley boasted, almost crowing at this little fact. “Mandate of hell, hosts are to be hell-bound only from here on out. Don’t need you on my ass because some idiot decided to possess a mother of three on her way to sainthood. One screws up, the rest run to tattle for a promotion.”

“Interesting. Alright, Crowley, for right now.”

The demon passed over the box as Dean finished his drink, mourning the fact that he couldn’t even feel it anymore, even as much as what the thing across from him did, which was limited at best.

“One more screw-up of this magnitude and I will take you to Sam and let him shoot you. Get them in order.”

All the color drained out of Crowley’s face, and at his nod, Dean took flight, sending the box to somewhere safe for right now. While distasteful, there was a point not letting Sam have that kind of weapon, especially right now as he made his way to heaven, finding Gabriel tucked away in a far corner of The Garden.

“Impressed, you came home again.”

“You sound like you don’t want to see me.”

“It’s not that.” His brother looked at him, coming closer. “How is he?”

“He let me put him asleep for a while, dreamless.”

“Good. Don’t know how long he could have kept going like he was. And the fallen, somewhat evil one?”

“Moody. So normal.”

Michael shifted his eyes away when Gabriel offered no response, seeing The Garden sweep out before them. To mortal eyes it would appear endless, an ever-flowing sea of life, and he had missed it. There hadn’t been time to stop before when he was still trying to staple himself together and he tried to control the anger at himself that if he had been faster at it, Castiel would still be alive.

“Mike.”

Shaking his head, he thought about leaving when Gabriel slide in front of him, hand on his chest.

Centuries. That thing had been working on his plan for centuries upon centuries and Cas had been caught up in it because it had focused on him, thought him weak. And he was. He had already left countless broken in his wake. Niceties like possession and saving the innocent only went so far when the veil was pulled back.

“Stop hating yourself.”

“It’s not hate if it’s the truth.”

“Michael –“

“Don’t,” he said, taking a step back. “You talk big but I still can’t see you.”

To his surprise, Gabriel tipped his mortal head as he unfolded his grace, expanded it as they were no longer bound by the physicality of earth here. Finally, his brother let him see what he was hiding, what he had done to make himself into the pagan god of mischief. All those jagged lines, carved and mauled in him, to make himself into something he should never be as Gabriel flowed in his arms, determined to still be bright and radiant.

Cupping his face, taking a breath he didn’t need, Michael whispered, “Still perfect.”

“You are insane.”

“Have you not realized I will always find you beautiful?”

All of Gabriel’s eyes were cast down, his brother unbelieving, as Michael touched his essence, drew him close and he weaved them together, allowing Gabriel to see his sorrow. They had lost so many little brothers before and it only hurt him more that this one felt worse above all others. The stalwart one who had imprinted his grace onto his soul to drag him out of the pit and Gabriel flowed through him.

“Stay for a while,” his brother whispered against him. “Not forever, just for a while.”

“I’m just an old broken archangel that picked up a tarnished soul.”

“You’re you, always will be.”

Dean wrapped Gabriel in his grace as they dwelled in The Garden. He still wanted to say he was sorry that he ever thought Gabriel had given up on him, but that was burned out of him as Gabriel grew fiercer, offering love as they flowed into each other until they were one, like they had so many times long before.


	17. Chapter 17

* * *

**Epilogue:** **Six Months Later**

* * *

He woke up before his alarm went off, tendrils of a dream involving Cas and him in the car slowly fading. Fumbling a little, still half asleep, he got the alarm turned off as there was no reason to wake Lucifer until he had to get up. Satan was not a morning person and Sam got himself sitting, seeing said creature curled up around a pillow in the other bed, sleeping peacefully.

Dean came in the night still. It had taken him too long to figure out that it wasn’t only nightmares but the very idea of sleep that terrified Lucifer. He’d only seen it a couple of times, waking up in the night when they shared a room on the road, Dean sitting against the headboard with Lucifer asleep in his arms. In the mornings after, he’d find Lucifer sleeping like he was now, content until the terrible idea of waking up came for him.

A lot of human things terrified Lucifer, more than Sam had ever given thought to that came with daily life.

Quietly getting some clean clothes, he padded into the bathroom and closed the door before turning on the light. He missed Dean in his life on a day to day basis beyond measure, but he’d probably wig and throw him out if Dean ever tried to curl up in bed with him. He smiled at the thought of that, something he had told Cas many times in his rambling prayers. The ones he made when he was alone and driving somewhere, the scant times he got privacy.

Washing his face, examining himself in the mirror, he debated if he’d need a suit today, which would mean he needed to shave. The drive had been long yesterday and they’d already talked to local cops involved last evening. He decided to leave it for now, he had electric for a fast job later on and got the rest of his stuff done, trying to keep the noise down as he changed.

Turning off the light, he waited a minute for his eyes to adjust before opening the door, seeing early morning light seeping in around the curtains. Lucifer was undecided on what was roaming around here, not enough clues yet and too many divergent stories. The claws or teeth made a difference in how they killed it and Lucifer was often reluctant to fight anything unless he had a clear plan. Not that it was a bad thing, just a huge difference from his brother.

That Lucifer would fight anything was still a strange idea to him, even if they were under an illusion woven by archangels so no one would recognize the former devil slumming it with humans.

Lucifer remained asleep as he pulled on his boots and collected his phone, pulling up the covers on his bed. This wasn’t how he thought his life would go at any time but it was better than hunting alone, no one to have his back, and Bobby wasn’t nearly as active in the field anymore as he used to be after everything.

At least Lucifer was motivated not to see the wrath of heaven come down on his head, which Sam figured was a pretty big motivator to keeping them both alive.

It was a sad fact that he’d have to wake up the fallen angel because he couldn’t afford to leave without saying anything after The Great Lucifer Panic. Or the morning where he tried to be nice, left a note, forgot his phone, and had Lucifer thinking he’d been hauled off with frantic archangels searching for him because no one found said note.

No, he didn’t want to go through that again. It was already unnerving enough that Lucifer watched everything he did and copied it – how he held his fork or his weapon or just walked. Panicked devils were not on his to-do list.

A small thought of Cas back when he was falling, if he had tried to learn in a rush how to be human the same way and he pushed it away. Wasn’t any help to have those thoughts right now.

“Hey,” he said, voice still low as he shook Lucifer’s shoulder. “Going to get us something to eat.”

Those eyes cracked open just a little, annoyed, Lucifer mumbling something into his pillow that probably wasn’t flattering but there was a nod that he at least heard.

Straightening, Sam held in a sigh. It was weird to be here like this, Lucifer so strange and still inhuman, not liking humans much more than he had but he watched. Just like Cas had, he watched everything, and Sam wondered what he thought somedays, if he hated being here, thought this was better or worse than being trapped in hell.

Along with the strange bursts of something close to hysteria in him when people thanked them and Lucifer got this strange look on his face – as if he too wanted to blurt out just who had murdered a monster in the dark to save a human life.

He promised Dean he’d try. And it wasn’t a bad life. Even if he was afraid he’d do something to mess up Lucifer’s journey through humanity. It was just that loneliness was ever-present no matter how often his brother stopped by to see him, something lost without a name.

The dull light of early morning seemed overly bright as he opened the door, stepping out, after the gloom of the room. Blinking a few times, he checked for his key and slid the door closed whisper-soft that he learned how to do back in childhood.

Walking a few paces, his eyes still adjusting, he realized there was a man by the car. A man that should no longer exist.

“Hello, Sam.”

Everything in him wanted to go to him as he whispered his brother’s name over and over again, terrified that he’d finally slipped from the grasp of sanity and fallen straight into hallucinations. Dean was there, as startled as he was, staring.

“Cas?”

A nod as Dean went over, looking, and he couldn’t take it if this wasn’t real.

“How? Man, not that I’m not glad to see you, but how’d you get here?”

Cas’ gaze fell to him. “I followed Sam’s voice home. I’m sorry it took so long.”

Sam had no words for that. None. He didn’t even know what that meant because if it was referring to his rambling prayers or the small little ones he offered up because Cas seemed like the safest thing to talk to, being dead and all, he couldn’t see how that could lead anyone home.

Dean was looking at him now too like he had done some horrible thing but he hadn’t. He hadn’t as Cas came to him. On instinct alone, he wrapped his arms around him, not caring if Cas wasn’t particularly the touchy-feely kind.

He felt real, almost too warm like he always did. There was a small moment where he hoped Dean wasn’t letting him hug something that was a potential threat out here when he felt Cas’s arms around him.

“That’s him, Sam,” Dean said, voice hushed, and Sam figured it was shock.

Probably not a lot of dead angels climbed back up out of where ever they went, and it troubled him a little that even Dean was confused.

“I told you I would always hear you.” Cas’s voice was stern as he pulled away, the angel’s head tilted up a little since they were so close. “I know you doubted, but that does not make it any less true.”

Sam opened and closed his mouth, unsure if he should apologize for the quality of his prayers, or if he had prayed too much. He had prayed consistently, convincing himself it was habit when it just helped in a way he hadn’t been willing to admit to as the angel drew away.

“I was just going to get breakfast for me and Luci.”

“I know. I’ve been waiting, I have a bribe for him.”

Cas went back towards the car as they watched and Sam noticed a plastic bag on the ground near the rear tire for the first time. Dean took it from him, looking inside and letting out a low laugh.

Seeing the can of whip cream, Sam knew what it was and he groaned a little. Lucifer had a penchant for French toast with a lot of syrup, and on the rare occasions Sam let him, he liked to put whip cream on each bite. It was rare because he didn’t need a nauseous Satan on a car ride with him.

“You’ll spoil him,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Go get breakfast, I’ll sit with him.”

Because Lucifer had some deep-seated abandonment issues that Sam wasn’t exactly looking forward to later.

Dean was looking at him again as it dawned on Sam that this was confirmation at least for now that Cas was telling the truth. He had complained about Lucifer’s eating habit a lot, especially this, and he swallowed as Dean left them to go placate Satan.

Somedays, he was certain he was trapped in a loop via Gabriel as his life was so randomly weird.

“Are you going to the place that has the pancakes based on the upside-down cake?”

“Yeah,” he got out since he had just prayed that last night. It was the little diner on the far end of the parking lot, their big special based on pineapple upside-down cake and he had promised Cas he would look up to see why they baked it like that in the next few days.

Cas had heard everything, everything, and it was terrifying as the angel watched him, head tilted slightly to the side.

“You believe it is bad that someone finally sees you.”

He jammed his hands into his jean pockets, trying to think of a reply because a lot of stuff, at least half, wasn’t flattering. It had been said out of grief and anger and hopelessness and anything else he had been feeling on a day.

He wanted to say he was sorry he had been angry at the angel when Cas put a hand on his arm. Reaching up, fingers on his face, just becoming aware of how wet his eyes were as he cleared his throat.

“I’m not mad. I wanted all your prayers, bad or good. I still do, Sam.”

He really wanted to tell Cas to stop talking.

“Let’s go eat,” he said, pretty sure that was more to himself so they’d stop standing here like this.

Cas had a small smile, faint and all him as they walked side by side to the little place that wasn’t as run-down as the outside looked. The angel held the door open and Sam caught his reflection in the glass. He was a mess from wind and emotion.

“Two,” he told the hostess who looked half-awake. “Be right back.”

A nod and he slipped away to the bathroom trying to breathe, running the water to get it warm as he frowned at the blotchy wild mess he was in the mirror.

Fear crept up in him that Cas would be gone by the time he got out. That all this was a dream and he washed his face quickly, got his hair to stop standing up, and almost stumbled over his own feet getting the door.

Cas was seated by a window, looking out over the parking lot caught in a hazy mist that was growing heavier, waitress dropping off two cups of coffee at what was now their table. Trying to appear collected, he took regular steps as he already dwarfed everyone, he didn’t need to look like some kind of rampaging giraffe getting to his seat. He slid into the booth across from the angel, making himself breathe normally, fiddling with his cup because it felt so surreal.

Warm fingers on his chilled ones, Cas looking at him and he felt Cas, what Cas really was, bloom inside him when he thought he’d never feel it again.

“I’m real.”

Settling, he didn’t protest when Cas laced their fingers together, not paying attention from the couple of stares they got from a group across the way. For the first time in so long, maybe the first time ever, he felt peace.


End file.
